World Domination Weekly With Osgood McSonogram!

2006-10-14T12:31:00.000-07:00

2006-08-24T04:28:00.000-07:00

Shade & Jangles--all Nevarez style!!!!!

Who are these handsome devils?

Osgood & Gute--we're smiling!

Twah!

2006-08-24T03:53:00.000-07:00

The booth.

The glorious merchandise!

Maquette by Amber Dempsey & Vegas lamp by Frys!

Osgood & his lovely colorist Eren Blanquet!

My hero Mike Daley shocking his 8 on!

BLUUUHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

2006-08-24T03:30:00.000-07:00

Big A representin' The Chuuch, 8-style!

A Tasteful Shot of Hard 8 HQ!

Jealous???!!!!!

We're friends. And we're laughing!!!!

The Cal State Fullerton Family Reunion

No, but seriously, I keed.

Fawk the fire marshall!!!!!! FAWK HEEEEM!!!!!!

2006-08-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

Chris Tallman, humble Osgood, and the Oswald!

Gotta catch 'em all!

Casual. Sophisticated. Hard 8.

Craig McCracken, Lauren Faust, & Eduardo of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends fame!

MARSHALL (Vandruff!)

Matt Groening just drinking it in!

Patton Oswald doing what he does best--product placement!

Oh readers, can you believe that I've been writing this blog and you've been reading it for over a year now? What's that? You haven't been reading it at all?! Oh yeah, well you smell like a loaded diaper, you diaperface! To quote George Takei, "Oh my!" And howdy-hi--that rhymed! I'm a Voltaire and not aware, except now that I am aware, (insert ending to sentence here).

I really wish that I had a good excuse for not posting all month. I really do. Like I spent my August doing something exciting like percolating enchiladas or that I was trampled by a clown navel or even that I grew teeth for eyes and eyes for teeth, but alas, I've done nothing but draw and catch up on my Simpsons Season 8 DVD (which, incidentally, should be the end of everyone's Simpsons DVD collection). And that's why this post is so post-funkly overdue:

COMIC CON 2006!!!!!!!

Ignore all those other recaps that were posted by other blogs the week after the event, here at WDW, I like you to forget what's all that and then sucker-elbow you to the memory and have all the good times flood back into your head like cream cheese down a slip-n-slide!

Altho my con hilite was the awesomely original sketch from the-greatest-artist-and-sweetest-guy-alive John Nevarez (see very above) of my characters Shade & Mr. Jangles (see fairly below), it was funner than Suzanne Sommers to have our virgin venture in publishing--Hard 8--be more than a modest success--we sold somewhere in the polo field of 150 books (with more selling by the day these days--notice the not-at-all subtle "Purchase Hard 8 Volume 1" Add to Cart Paypal link below my list of links? Yeah!), intrigued the interest of multiple development scouts including the good bro-hams at Jerry Bruckheimer, MTV, and Paramount, plus we got the attention of such titans as Matt Groening, Craig McCracken, and Patton Oswald, respectively famous for The Simpsons, The Powerpuff Girls, and Patton Oswald! It was a week fulla waffles, friends, family, and nerd after stinky nerd! Hope you enjoy the pictures (courtesy of The Gute, The Big Toon, & Garrett Shikuma!)

"The least you owe an audience is the best you can do." --Chuck Jones

2006-07-18T01:43:00.000-07:00

In honor of Comic Con this week, I just wanted to say--You stay classy, San Diego!

Hope to ya see at booth 1032, otherwise I'll talk to ya kids next week!

"We are cynical. Cynical with reason. But cynical with hope." --Jim Carrey

2006-07-15T22:07:00.000-07:00

Oklay readmasters fresh, if there's anything you NEED to remember for the next week, it's the number 1032. To ensure that you don't forget it, read the following thrice a day: 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032 1032. The significance of this oh so pretty number, you query? Well, Chitlins McGree, 1032 just so happens to be our (and by "our" I mean all the names you see in that second picture) booth number at the world-sassy San Diego Comic Con where, amongst other ginchy goods, you can (nay, will!) purchase the gallantly gorgeous new anthology book Hard 8! So stop by and tell 'em Osgood sentchya! Word to yo mothahs! 1032.

"The ocean doesn't care." --Chuck Jones

2006-07-10T13:53:00.000-07:00

Sooooooo how are you adorable blog-going bastards you doing today? Fantastic! How am I? Well thank you for asking (or more accurately thank me for asking for you. So thank you Matt. Oh you're quite welcome my lad--how're the kids? Funny you should ask--Finster adores the metric system and Hortence is celibate--you know, small hands, smells like cabbagood gawsh no the multiple personalities have returned. Oh well. I guess it's suicide again for me. But which personality should I kill off today? Ooh! How about the Skipper! Then I can stop wearing that dumb hat, pipe, and blazer combo. Okay, so let me just attach this thumbtack to this q-tip, insert, and ho ho! No more marina galas for me! Ow. How come every time I lose a personality I also lose the hearing in one ear? Bluh.)

So by now you must be thinking, "Hey. Uncle Presidente, the friendly dictator. Emphasis on 'uncle' now that your sister is totally preggers (congratulations again by the way). Isn't this blog called World Domination Weekly? So where ya hiding the domination at?" Well, yes, it's true. This blog was created in part to detail my exploits in global conquest so you can prepare yourself for when my world tour comes to your area to deliciously enslave you in my empire the Pretzel-Wagon way. But there's a reason why you haven't had any updates for awhile: things haven't been going the Osgood-way out there equator-conquering style.

For example, I was genetically engineering mollusks for the NASCAR circuit (as part of a conspiracy so complex I won't even begin to tell you why I was doing this) but one of my henchterns (intern henchman--I know, I know, what a cute word! My mom came up with it!) left them out in the sun destroying the whole batch and taking us back to formula. And don't even get me started on those fart-fueled neutrino jet packs. Gawd. Those things were like the biggest failure since Mussolini. Or all those Three's Company spin-offs. And then of course the world market will have to go without my patented invention of "bottled panther" since the rainforest pygmies have rebelled, raspberried, and utterly run me out of my South American operations on that one. It was crazy. They tied these sharpened rocks to the ends of wooden staffs in some primitive, makeshift devices they called "sbears" and threw them at me. Threw them at me! I had never seen anything like it! I went back after a month after the heat had died down but instead of calling me "Lord Pasty" they called me "Cowboy Ruth" and stole my pants. Granted, they were only Old Navy cargo pants left over from that carefree spring break I ran that cider mill (ran it off a cliff, actually, due to a staff made entirely out of lemmings during menstrual season. But hey, that's why pencils have erasers, right?), but needless to say, I WON'T be going back there again.

And Garrett, Eren, warm-up your hugging arms 'cause here comes new Aphrodite art!!!!!! Since I've posted so infrequently as of frequent, I'm putting up everyone's favorite monkey-wristed, woman-assed pseudo-duo Shade and Mr. Jangles; not to mention the ginchiest three-chested gerbil-legged projectile-vomiting blue supervillain Virgil Ruggiero; and head concepts for the evilly electrical chrome-guy Zip Oswald!

And don't blank everyone--swing by Booth 1032 and say "Hi there!" at Con! (And buy a Hard 8 book too!)

"All great and precious things are lonely." --John Steinbeck

2006-06-23T11:24:00.000-07:00

Hey you. Yeah you. You're gonna buy this. You're gonna buy this because you appreciate comedy. And being one who appreciates comedy, you will want to own the best season of the best sitcom ever. So buy this. Stop reading this blog and buy it and watch it and love it. Every second you go without owning it is an incredulous insult to my Guadalupan heritage. If money came in loaves, you could slice your own dollar bills. Regardless, Newsradio Season 4. You can thank me in heaven, which is where you'll be while watching this DVD set. And you can't watch it until you buy it. So buy it already. I mean dammit.

And come February, I'll be an uncle. Still processing that one myself.....

"Someone needs to help you die the right way. And we both know that dying ain't something you ever done before." --Sherman Alexie

2006-06-02T01:58:00.000-07:00

I know it. Betrayal. It's what you're thinking, isn't it oh cuddliest of readers? You've read this blog since nonsensical paragraph one and seen it plummet from daily updates to like three posts in the past two months. Your gullivers must be swirling with queries--Hey, Matt, where've ya been?; Hey, Osgood, what's up on the world domination front?; Yo, Skinny Boy, where else can I go to see mediocre art online and be lectured on what I should read and watch in modern-day pop culture?; Hey, Goober, where's the meat? Altho I will get into further lengths of my wily whereabouts in future, more frequent posts, the short answer to my online vanishings is shown above in the opening page of my Hard 8 story. Yes, my kindly kinders, I am one of THOSE bloggers you've seen around the community who hasn't been around as often as he was due to his shinload of work involved in the eye-assaulting anthology book Hard 8 (to be released at the San Diego Comic Con this summer!). The coloring is by the unconquerable Eren Blanquet, which brings me to the seminal subject of this post:

Every one in this world (soon to be overpowered by moy) deserves a friend like Eren Blanquet. Seriously, if my assetts weren't tied up in Aborigine bonds and Zurich accounts, I would spend every cent developing technology to clone Eren so that no man, woman, or child would ever go without a Blanquet buddy again. Again to make a long story not so long, my Hard 8 story ended up being A LOT of work, and when I type "A LOT of work," I mean "I HATE YOU TIME AND SLEEP JUST GET LEUKEMIA ALREADY THE BOTH OF YOU AND DIE!" That A LOT of work. Anydoogal-now-on-dvd-ewww, Eren agreed to to do the colors for my story before either of us knew the finger-breaking labor that would be required in completing it. But even after she learned of my daunting story, she stuck by me and not only completed her share of the work on time, but she bedazzled my drawings in her own colorful Blanquet beauty. I could not be happier with how my story has turned out and I can't owe it enuf to the swell-mell Erenthea! So, if you haven't already, go gawk at more of her wonderful work at http://eblanquet.blogspot.com And do it now snacky!!! And check out Hard 8 at the Prehensile Press booth this summer in SD! But do it then, not now, not like you could do it now, but trust me, do it then.

"If you can't appreciate, what you've got, you'd better get what you can appreciate."--G.B. Shaw

2006-05-06T17:14:00.000-07:00

A high school for clones? What a cute idea! Well, I sed the latter anyway when I saw this cocktail napkin whilst dining with my family at a seafood restaurant in Carlsbad Easter weekend. There were others, but I was the only one to pocket his napkin before the waitress ruined them with sog by placing our drinks on them. Don't know the artist, but I do like the drawing and I hope you do too. I mean after all, I just scanned a napkin for you. A NAPKIN!!!!! That's a piece of my humanity I'll never get back. Kinda like my birthing arches, but with less gabardine.

"I prefer actors to have a mouth, and two eyes, hopefully on opposite sides of the nose." --Alfred Hitchcock

2006-04-29T12:36:00.000-07:00

Hey kids!!!! If you want to see more laff-candy like this, watch Saturday Night Live tonight!!!!! Yay!!!!!

"Vincent van Gogh never faced an audience." --Chuck Jones

2006-03-16T10:56:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone! Watch this out!

"If there is such a thing as beauty, we need to be able to recognize it."
--Paul Graham

2006-03-06T23:41:00.000-08:00

Wow. Have I gone a full week without posting or is this blog just wearing an anatomically correct bra? And why did SARS ever allow itself to be cured? Not only was it WAY easier to spell than "rubella," but it had the all caps thing going for it proving that it was one disease to be bronxed with. Hey! What's the difference between a ninja and a pork barrell? A trenchcoat! A bit tawdry, sure, but nothing NEAR the vomit in your mother-in-law's purse. Jaleel White should be shorn down to his skeleton and he should be pitted against Dolph Lundgren in the ultimate battle for Greyskull (aka front spot in the unemployment line--zing!). And is there really anything really more filthy than an Italian? Okay, fine--an Italian-American. Come. On. This concludes my version of Def Free Verse Jam.

On the world domination front, gang, in honor of Women's History Month (aka now), I traded my wealth of Susan B. Anthony pogs with the nation of Djibouti in exchange for the country's 49 tractors. Since this deal makes me the largest shareholder of the Djiboutian economy, I thought I'd try me hand as Crazy Uncle Dictator in yet another impoverished nation--therefore, I decreed that all diapers must be filled with fruit and lamb tacos must be eaten every Tuesday. Sure, the country's "plumbing" will have to wait for its much-needed 3 quarter inch galvanized phalanges with additional polychromatic stranifiers (stupid Appalachian warlords!) but as long as I provide the citizens with spackle for their stigmata and Nyquil for their report cards, I think the candle will burn nicely. I have also introduced Djibouti to the word "piratesmoker" and the invention of the guillotine while Djibouti has introduced me to the pastime of "drive-by milking." So the trade has been a rich, meaningful experience all around. But now, by using my patented powers of lettuce, I'll progress this post along into what's interesting me out there at the current:

WALLACE & GROMIT earn another Golden Dude! Way to be British, guys, and kick ass while doing it.

JUSTICE LEAGUE UNLIMITED is back! Sure, I love this show even when it's lame (season premiere, anyone?) but my biggest joygasm thus far this season is Nathan Fillion (NATHAN FILLION!!!!!!) as the voice of Vigilante. For a show that casts so many vanilla voice talents, Nathan is a triple riple chunky monkey vocal blast of charm, humor, class, and adventurous showmanship. The only departure from Mal Reynolds here is that this cowboy doesn't have himself a Firefly. And what's up with the redesigned Supergirl? I like it, but does this mean my action figure is going the way of Atari?

LADY & THE TRAMP--This is a good friggin movie! Growing up an army BRAT, my childhood was denied the privilege of a household dog. But now that I live under a pup-friendly roof (whot-whot Koppi!) I can now fully understand how astonishing the acting is in this movie--the characters strike a profound yet delicate blend of human pathos yet are still rooted in their canine tendencies. In short, a perfect marriage of personified psyche and dog behavior. My only pork with the film is that Tramp's "arc" is cheated--we see so much of him corrupting Lady on the bohemian side of life, but we never see her champion the merits of a domestic lifestyle back at him to convince him to settle down with her at the end--he just kinda does in what feels like a last minute "oh what the hell okay" decision. And altho the DVD extras claim that the small-town dynamic to the movie is Walt's depiction of the real America, I picked up a far different American thesis from this film: Real America isn't about your childhood town, it's about immigration. I swear, just about EVERY character in this film is a racial stereotype of some, well, type, so much so that if Jesse Jackson is ever in need of some quick bling, he only needs to sic his legal coalition on this film full 'stache! And to untomb an even specificer theme--Orientals are evil. I'm sorry, but those Siamese cats scared the tinkle out of me as a kid, and they frighten the prostate out of me now, altho that could just be a pelvic ulcer (note to self: see doctor once you get a real job with medical benefits). And being a story boy myself, I appreciate the salute to the art of the storyboard extra, but did we really need the highly superfluous appearances by Andrew Adamson, Kevin Costner, and Bill Paxton? The Christmas babies tell me "no."

NEWSRADIO SEASON 3--For over a decade, I have been under the unconquerable opinion that Newsradio is the greatest sitcom (and ensemble!) ever made by humans and this season sexifies my opinion all the more factier. Just the fact that this DVD set is available means that Season 1 & 2 sold more than Evan Gabor so PLEASE buy this set so they'll at least release Season 4 which I GUARANTEE will be the most hilarious DVD you'll ever own! Returning to the topic of Season 3, tho, I love thems commentaries--they are as disorganized as they are adorable! No wonder this show was so lowly rated--not even the staff watched it! None of the actors or writers remember what's going on in each episode and in fact Andy Dick, who is literally watching these episodes for the first time, often breaks out in hilarity and tries to shush those giving commentary so that he can follow the episodes. Throw in the fact that Maura Tierney's call time for ER was pushed up so she has to contribute via phone and you got commentary as every bit hilarious and offbeat as Newsradio itself!

And finally, I want to give a shout-out to the most entertaining blogs out there (all to be found in my links column):

PUBLICK NUISANCE--the blog of Venture Brothers creator Jackson Publick. Granted, it's not updated all too frequently due to the grueling Venture production schedule, but when it is updated, sweet cats it's a thing of beauty and enjoyment!

TOONING-IN--no art, granted, but you don't need it when you're getting served such succulent platters of satire. Probably the funniest site on the web.

STORYBOREDOM--I have strived for eight months now to turn World Domination Weekly into the funnest, most offbeat blog around and these vondrooks come and make me look boring! Thanks a lot fellas, not just for making my blog seem like a used tampon, but for being my regular source of inspiration these days! Solid!

And finally--

The TAG Blog--granted, Cartoon Brew recently gave it a hoorah, but in all informative fairness, WDW reader Wayne Unten found it two weeks ago first! Regardless, this place is every bit as industry informative as the Brew plus they've given me the suicide deadening uplift that King of the Hill has been renewed.

So.....hoorah.

"You have to know about life, and you create out of what you know." --Marc Davis

2006-02-26T22:25:00.000-08:00

Goodnight you Prince of Pleasantville, you Majesty of Mayberry, you Royalty of The Regal Beagle.

"I think a lot of people are a lot lazier than I am. I really do believe this." --Milt Kahl

2006-02-20T02:18:00.000-08:00

So we finally get to see the dramatic conclusion to my 24 hour comic--a little late, granted, but since I'm obviously living in a "way back machine," let's tackle other retroactive issues as well: what's the deal with that Wang Chung I've heard so much about? Have you seen that new show Melrose Place--I sure hope it makes it and becomes a representational staple for the 90s. Is Gerald Ford the president now that Nixon resigned? Have you seen the previews for that movie Tron? Apparently the special effects are done with these things called "com-pew-tors." And oh yeah, I apologize in advance to the Hispanics, Irish, Belgians, grandmas, and well, just everyone. You'll know it when you read it.

"If you don't have satire, you've lost eighty percent of the basis of humor." --Ward Kimball

2006-02-17T19:09:00.000-08:00

Well stuff my toes with corn cobs! Due to my caucasian lack of rhythm, I left an item off of last post's Inspiration-Down!. Of course I only remembered it whilst away on one of my moonlighting missions of gluing all of Castro's spoons together while still in the silverware drawer in a conspiratorial effort to drive him insane (and so far, point Osgood) and there being not an ounce of internet in all of Cuba, I had to abort this mission mid-glue and catch the quickest raft back to the states so that I didn't leave anything unfinished. Well, except for that latest Castro mission. Frig! Curse you Joseph Heller! Curse you for inventing the Catch-22! Anyhow, the missing item is as follows:

This week's episode of Lost! I know, I know--this must seem wig after months and months of me saying this show can suck my butt tentacles, but this episode was actually really good! Of course, it didn't hurt that it was about Sayid who's the only worthwhile character the show has besides Hurley, but it was a rare occurrence that the flashbacks were just as interesting as the island. I also lend my McSonogram-brand of approval to the ending--Sayid's arc was subtle but still popped home with resonance, plus, it gave us some interesting happenings (i.e. the clock reaching zero) which were ambiguous enuf for us to get curious, but weren't mind-fuggity enuf to dangle a colossal carrot in front of us then repocket sed carrot, give us the finger, and leave us dangling for two weeks like they usually do. So J.J., keep the rest of the season going like this, and I might actually enjoy your show again. And if you wanna make me especially happy? Gradually kill off everyone but Sayid and Hurley.

And today's images are various cafe sketches I did at Santa Barbara a month ago but put into color. Sure, they'd look ginchier if I took the time to clean them up (or knew anything about color) but since time hasn't been my friend lately, take it up with him.

My hotplate is fine.

"There was more stuff to be done than I could possibly do, and things still to be done that I should do." --Frank Thomas

2006-02-15T23:45:00.000-08:00

So, I thought I'd do thangs differently this post and talk about the image first, and THEN venture into scrumpty rumpty (also the name of Kirby Puckett's calico cat) ramblings. Therefore, if you're a girl and I know you, you were e-mailed this on Tuesday. Everyone else, now you get some spooney love too.

With that being sed, on the global conquest front, I spent last weekend shaving the Yukon in preparation for Project: Donkey Girdle when one of my nightgowns went off without warning. After the vapor and bacon bits cleared, I spit out my own haircut to realize that, without even trying this time, I had been witness to the mass extermination of two species of Appalachian flamingo and the Laplander people. It's no big jig tho--after all, they're poor, smelly, they haven't contributed anything to this world of ours (except triangular-grid waffles) and most nobody has ever heard of them, therefore most nobody will miss them. I'm talking about the Laplanders there. I'm only clarifying because you got this look in your eye that--you know what, forget it. But if you're of Laplander heritage and you haven't been home in a while, now's a good time to tell you your mom's dead and my nightgown killed her. Oh man. Did I just deja vu John F. Kennedy? You can never go home again, but I guess you can roast your marshmallows there. The Appalachian flamingo, on the other hand, now that's a loss. Truly a noble, majestic creature. A shame. Just, it's just a shame. Aw, don't tell me I'm gonna cry now. Uhp. Nope--it's just the juice running down from my new jerry curl. Now I look like an Irishy Billie Dee Williams (that "D" stands for Dublin!).

INSPIRATION-DOWN!:

The Aristocrats on DVD: Altho nothing's changed in my adoration for Sarah Silverman or South Park, this movie has provided me a newfound respect for Bob Saget. Forget comparing his performance to Full House--the question to ask is why wasn't he this funny on America's Funniest Home Videos? Oh that's right, the complete LACK of submissions containing tampons and fecal rape! Moving on, loaded with swell special features like other favorite jokes and contest winners, this DVD is the funniest, most desensitizing experience I've had since I found half a mole cub in that box of Golden Crisps!

Wallace & Gromit: Curse Of The Wererabbit on DVD: FINALLY! I'm watching it over and over and STILL can't figure how they get so much out of Gromit with just two glass eyes but damn if it isn't amazing. Heath Ledger can pull up his high-heeled boots and ride back into the pink sunset for all I care, Gromit's my pick for Best Actor of the year! Plus a commentary that reveals Nick Park and Steve Box to be utterly giggly over their process and featurettes on how to build a plasticine bunny, how W&G literally saved the Wendsleydale industry, and is it just me or does Jeffrey Katzenberg look more and more like a mummy in Gap clothing? Oops, I just submitted a portfolio to Dreamworks, maybe I shouldn't have sed that. And maybe I can patch things up by sending him 35 lbs. of Vitamin C....

Scrubs: I am a total DARSHBAG!!!!! This show, this brilliant and marvelous show, seemingly written just for me, has been on for HOW many years and I only discover it NOW?! This is the silliest, guffaw-getting show on television and I am in love! I used to describe Stella as what creation would be like if I were God--well, the same rings true here. If I thought a hospital like this actually existed, I would promptly become a hypochondriac and max out my PPO plan quicker than Aquaman on laundry day! And it only figures that I get into it just as it's temporarily pulled for the Olympics. Pff, thanks A LOT, stupid world unity. The only global cohesiveness I want to see is under my Dracula stare. But until then, I'd settle for the whole world sitting on the couch together every Tuesday night for Scrubs. I've also seen recently that the production's looking for interns and, if I were still a student, I would totally go for it if only to meet Sarah Chalke, who I think I might be in love with, but that's another post unto itself. Anydookie, seasons 1 & 2 are on DVD and, with my 25th birthday next month, I know two gifts I'LL be asking for, and they don't rhyme with rollerblades Uncle Ebray!

So, until next time, do I smell a midget burning? Oh no! MY HOTPLATE!!! Gotta go!

"When is 'not yet' going to end?" --Wolfgang Reitherman

2006-02-12T01:09:00.000-08:00

In my newfound tradition of also posting writings, I just wanted to post this project I did for a cartooning class three years ago before Hoodwinked 2 gets under way and steals my cred and ruins the story.

"You absolutely cannot ever, ever, ever make everyone happy. All I can do is tell the stories I need to tell and tell them with total conviction." --Brian Michael Bendis

The city. Once upon a time it was an okay place. The kind of burg where if Little Bo Peep lost her sheep, she’d know just where to find them. Nowadays, it’s hard to find even an apple that won’t put you into a coma. Not to say that I’m outta place here. I fit this slum like a florist in a puddle. Wait. That doesn’t make sense. Then again, I don’t get paid for my analogies. The name’s Wolfe. B.B. Wolfe. I’m a private eye. I used to have an eating problem—I had a rap sheet a yellow brick road long---pigs, grandmas, children, certain species of plankton—slap some guacamole on it and I’d eat the poor bastard. But that’s behind me now. Partly because of the current food recession due to jealous Queens poisoning nearly all the food, but I’m also a member of Overeaters’ Anonymous—seven months now of only curds and whey. Which reminds me. I should call my sponsor Juanilius. He owes me a banjo. Damn how I could go for a giraffe right now.

But my craving was interrupted by a rap-tap-tapping on my door, like a tommy-gun firing macaroni. Hey. I told you. Analogies aren’t my forte.

“Doorknob works,” I quipped through the glass. Hmm. That’s clever. I’ll run it by Juanilius later.

That’s when she ankled into my office. A tall drink of cocoa with a behind you wanted to eat lunch off of, and a chest that could rival the local dairy. The kind of sultry dame that could forge her foot into a glass slipper and if you called her on it, she’d crush your balls with the six-inch stiletto and then exercise the prenup and take one home with her to add to the collection, making you enjoy it all the while. She was followed by a puppy on a leash, a.k.a. her mark of a husband. Mmm. Puppy on a leash. That sounds good. Aww crap. Focus. Focus!

Her name was Vikki Zen. Her husband’s name…I don’t recall. He’s a woodsman, but I only know that because he hit me with an axe once. In my hungry days. He didn’t remember me, and I think that’s best.

It seemed Ms. Zen’s stepchildren—a runt named Hansel and a scamp called Gretel—were missing, presumably ran away. Although the weak-sister-of-a-puppy-dog-woodsman seemed distraught, even malnourished, Ms. Zen didn’t look at much of a loss for her vanished kinder. In fact, considering her dolled-up hair, oyster fruit necklace, and shapely glad rags, she didn’t seem at a loss for much at all. The bim was buncoing this family with the Chinese squeeze, and considering that the kids disappeared around the time the food recession began, my canine senses howled that I was heading into soylent trouble. Mmm. Soylent trouble. I could sure dammit! No. Be strong, be strong.

The kids were last seen going into The Woods, which is a dangerous place for kids to venture. The Woods is the roughest nightclub this side of your steering wheel. Inside the clip joint, I put the screws on the usual suspects. No bites. Humpty Dumpty apparently had a great fall. He led a hard-boiled life and now a death to match. The Magic Mirror is currently giving someone seven years bad luck. And Snow White, well let’s just say someone put her golden heart to sleep. This was no coincidence. I had to be getting close to the little ragamuffins. Oooh. A raga muffin sounds delicious right about—No! Okay, good thoughts in, bad thoughts out, I’m a kitten, you’re a kitten….

Needless to say, I was a tad concerned that I was tripping for biscuits. I planted myself by the captain’s court, tipping back the hops to calm my dancing paw, when it caught my eye. A bread crumb. And behind it, another one. And behind that, another one. And behind that, another one. And behind that, another one. And behind that, another one. And behind that, another one. And behind that, another one. Oh sorry. Let’s just call it a lead.

The crumbs stopped at The Gingerbread Projects, low-level housing made of candy and broken dreams. And the area was recently broken by riots from the food recession leaving many a poor sap homeless on top of starving. Only one building seemed to remain entirely intact. Did the rioters spare this candy cottage or just know better than to mess with its hinky peppermint architecture? I was gonna crab this one out.

I rap-a-tap-tapped on the front door. An eye cover slid open and a girl’s voiced screeched, “Password?”

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Nice try—NARC!” and the cover slid curtly shut.

I’d show her. I’m not one to wear iron. But when you have the lungs I do, obstacles sort of blow outta your path. I huffed and puffed that door ‘til it fell like a straw shanty. I went inside and instantly knew I was in trouble, trouble spelled with a capital “OH GAWD I’VE BEEN SHOT IN THE FACE!.” Yeah. That kinda trouble. This was the hide-out of The Little Red Riding Hoods, a gang of little girls in red-hooded jumpers who ruff up people for their picanic baskets. It’s not like I was wearing rival colors or carrying a picanic basket for that matter, but the girls didn’t appreciate me letting myself in. I was behind the eight-ball, and they flew off the track, dry-gulching me with The Broderick.

I threw a Joe, and when I came to, my head was pounding like a pickle in a doorknob factory. Mmm. Pickle. I looked up to find a crazy tomater standing over me with a red-jumpered Gretel. And if her bulge wasn’t enough of a Chinese angle, behind them, lay little Hansel caged like a mockingbird.

I wasn’t unpeached for long—the crazy tomater had a mouth like a Presbyterian at a sonar convention. She was the witch Bruja Hoodooni, ultra-feminist cannibal and lovechild of Willy Wonka and Courtney Love. Driven insane from toxic spell inhalation, she spear-headed a radical faction of the Red Riding Hoods luring girls into her gang with the enchanted candy from her house. The gang believed that in this current grocery recession, picanic baskets weren’t comparable to eating men. Bruja had gotten to Gretel and they were plumping Hansel up with Crisco and zucchini which actually sounds pretty darn delicious when you think about it. But I wasn’t there to think. In fact, in Bruja’s mind, I was there to be the second course. Of course, I couldn’t let that happen. Not only do wooden kimonos not go with my tie, but no one eats before I do.

The Wiccan chippy sicced her hoods on me. Literally. The roundheels closed in on me, my heart pounded, my head throbbed, but wait. My stomach growled. That’s when my salvation hit me like periwinkle off a lemur’s ass. I could fight my one weakness, or finally employ it once again to buck the Dutch.

I won’t lie to you. Those little girls were delicious. I may have even felt remorse if Bruja hadn’t abruptly tried to skewer me with a Harlem sunset. (Bruja draws candy cane swords from her hair.) But I was already a head of her. (B.B. draws head of Rapunzel and uses it as nunchuks.) Rapunzel let down her hair, and I let Bruja fall into the oven. Darn! If only I brought a doggy bag.

With the witch blipped off, her hold over Gretel was broken. I made Gretel apologize for making her brother obese and trying to eat him. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I took the peewees home making their woodsman pop as pleased as illegal floss. Oh, and Vikki apparently took it on the heel and toe and left them. Oh, and Hansel stopped being fat. Oh, and I got a new hat. Oh yeah, and the food recession ended, why not. Yeah. That’s the crop. I’m gonna go get something to eat. I’m sorry if that sounded anticlimactic.

2006-02-07T01:28:00.000-08:00

I 'eight 'im and I 'eight the mess 'e left on me rug! Ya heard Me!

"Characters on the screen appear to be most real when they can be animated to have personalities, and this only can be done when there is potential for movement in all parts of the body." --Ollie Johnston

2006-02-05T01:18:00.000-08:00

I know, I know. My posts are getting sparser--but it's not my fault! I had to take some time off to wrestle donkeys under the sea (the Baltic if you want specifics) and then viciously seize the governorship of Ottawa by means of nasal hypnosis. So, oh, yeah, I guess it is kinda my fault then, huh? Durp.

Well, anypoodles, peering around the internet lately, I've noticed that good friend, Miyazaki buff, and pelted global conquest intern Brian Growe has come under a lot of criticism lately for his controversial views regarding "highlights and heritage." His heated rivalry with defective animation opinionater Smigel Bearier aside, I have come to realize that much of poor Mr. Growe's controversy has rooted from this very blog. So, to make it up to him, I am hereby declaring that February 5th is now and officially Dr. Brian Growether King Day! So there you have it--each last of you now has the authority to skip work every February 5th with a Hallmark-patented lamb browe-rito in order to better reflect on the accomplishments and treasures of Studio Ghibli and the 9 Old Men while watching muted Nickelodeon to your favorite Carl Stalling records and ironing your bestest Strong Bad t-shirt to prepare yourself for an evening of cafe sketching at The Block. You're welcome. Everyone.

"I have come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass, and I'm all out of bubble gum."
--Rowdy Roddy Piper

2006-01-27T14:35:00.000-08:00

Today's allegorical comic strip is dedicated to David Stainton!

"I imagine it must be nice to have a past important enough to forget." --Imad Rahman

2006-01-24T09:58:00.000-08:00

Well, it appears as tho that broiling bastion-pot of hate known as my Comments Column has finally simmered back down to its former tepid teakettle of compliments and steroid ads (thanks again everyone for those 15 posts of magic!). If that makes you feel safe again, dear reader, don't bother. The locusts will take care of that. The locusts and that spoon of theirs, anyway...

Aphrodite fans unite! So, Garrett, Eren, that means hold hands. Finally I've finished the development of my latest villains: The Hibachi Trepidation Trio--a racist, legally-retarded gang of kabuki anarchists. You've already met Hai Minh from a previous tag--but now you can check out her wacky partners in crime--Tang (the shirtless one), Gunter (the ninja), and Rudy (the remaining guy). Sorry that's it been so long between Aphrodite characters, but it's been quite the challenge to design such an eccentricly eccentric group where each member is uniquely eccentric yet also fits into their eccentric whole. By large, they are pretty much the visually loudest characters of the A-Go-Go 'verse. I'd divulge more about them, but I'd like to save some surprises for everyone once the Aphrodite bible compendium is ready. Anypowwows, I'm pretty happy with them and had a blast with these kids! Hope they taste like cotton candy to your eyes!

"It's the mystery that endures. Not the explanation." --Neil Gaiman

2006-01-17T21:23:00.000-08:00

So it was like only last week that I thanked youse guys for supporting me in my global conquests for the past 5 months and now suddenly I'm being bombarded with all kinds of mad scientists competing with me for dictatorial rights to the world--from the Europeans who want to use Uganda to combine rabbit and human DNA for cheap, cheap thrills to the Taiwanese who successfully bred pigs who glow a fluorescent green from the inside-out (don't forget who did it all first using Nagasaki orphans, guys!), this is not good! This means that one of you readers is a mole leaking my exploits to any third world throne-sitter with half a wallet and half a gag reflex. Save us all from my wrath, mole, and come forward before I have to systematically eliminate ever last reader to sanctify this blog (and don't think I won't--ever wonder what happened to Montgomery Ward? NO ONE CAME FORWARD TO ADMIT THEY SOLD ME THAT FAULTY BED SHEET!!!!). I and I alone shall rule this green and blue swirly space sphere, and I shall do it with a tungsten fist, not with a rabbit dude or glow-pig you third world weirdos.

Hey! Guess who's "on notice!":

SBC--my phone line went down last week for like the seventh time in 2 1/2 years, and they took about a week to come out and fix it (again!). Don't call me, I'll call you buttwads!

Kelloggs--they discontinued the Finding Nemo cereal! And that stuff was good! I may not be able to Find Nemo anymore, Kelloggs, but you can find yourselves "on notice!"

Teen Punk Girls With Purple Hair & Lip Piercings--they've just had this COMING!!!!

The Creators Of Hoodwinked--I am gonna adopt a Guadalejaran kid, name him Li'l Ruteger, and take him to see this movie over and over again until his eyes shrivel and bleed from a sheer crap overdose, he literally gets dysentary from sitting too close to the screen, and the very mention of your "film" will rush his flesh with an onslaught of pimple pox just so I can send you lowlifes a picture of him with the handwritten caption "Hope you're happy with yourselves."

Mandy Patinkin--no reason here, just thought a threat might inspire him from becoming the next Steve Gutenberg--oops, too late!!!

Now as some of you know, I've been a long-time collector of Bill Peet books and (altho I'm still 7 books away from achieving the collection I want) I can now officially declare my favorite--Capyboppy. It's the autobiographical account of how Peet's zoology-studying son adopts a South American capybara as a pet and how the Peet family adapts to it and vice versa. It's a very warm, endearing, and slightly tragicomic tale that simply purrs page after page. Sure, like most other Peet stories, this book is far from flawless storytelling but, as is also true with his other publications, his auxiliary art fills in where the story lacks. I bought Capyboppy with two other books that are now tied as my second favorite Peet venture--Harold's Hair-Raising Adventure, a tale of a lion's baldness remedy going terribly awry (for the amazing acting and expressive line he uses on his animal characters); and No Such Things, an encyclopedia of fictitious beasts (just for his sheer use of imagination). Buy them all if you love freedom.

Today's drawing is a collection of mischevious girls I sent to a greeting card company--I didn't get the job, but their loss is your gain. And afterall, me Tarzan, you gain. Awwww, who typed that one? Pew.

"I want love to win out, not just for my sake but so that the picture of this world will line up right with the picture of the other." --Rafi Zabor

2006-01-02T23:12:00.000-08:00

Zowie. My first post of 2006. Can you BELIEVE that WDW has been up and running for 5 months now? It's been a long keypad to the top, past many skeptics who sneered we wouldn't make it, who laughed at the longevity of the villainous blog, and who gasped at discovering I need a spotter to go to the bathroom (it's just a sock, guy). But here we are dear readers, 5 months later and still reading and writing strong on a full tank of gonorrhea and a wishbone in the sky. And those skeptics? Dead. From an overdose of plankton, naturally. Or "surviving" the rest of their years laboring in my Algerian gymnastics mine (where we mine gymnastics!). It depends, I flipped a coin for each of them. Either way, no one's gonna hear from that Deforest Kelley for awhile.
And looking back at my original pledgeling post, I now remember I not only promised to post artwork for you kingly kids, but writings as well. Granted, my lengthy posts probably count as writings to you, but I meant CREATIVE writings, not just daily mini-manifestos dictated by moy and typed by my Zoroastrian assistant, Vivika. So, to give you guys more to read on top of look at, here's a two-voice poem I wrote back in high skool called "Batman & PeeWee Herman Watching OJ Being Acquitted Of Murder On TV"--check it out, it's all existential and kewl. But if you don't want to read it, you can look at me all trying to learn from yet also stylize Mr. Joseph Weatherly again. Don't trust the Viet-Cong!

BATMAN & PEE WEE HERMAN WATCHING OJ BEING ACQUITTED OF MURDER ON TV

A Two-Voice Poem By Matt Roberts

I am speechless.
I know you are, but what am I?

Where is the reasoning, where is the justice?
What will become of OJ now?

How can the jury go to bed at night knowing they’ve willingly unleashed onto the public a murderer?
Will he be given a second chance like me and rebound in a few years, or live his life in exile?

Is this, this, what I’ve worked all these years for?!
Why did I ever agree to making Big Top Pee Wee? Friggin piece of box office poison.

My unwavering dedication towards the prevention of crime, solely performed to shield others from the incessant pain that torments me. Has it been in vain?
OJ, what compels us to do wrong and throw away our success? Do we feel unworthy, unable to handle it?

I have surrendered my life to uphold justice. Why can’t the jury do the same?
Why, though under different circumstances, have we had such ill fate with the opposite of sex?

Is this really the type of society I want to protect? One that allows killers to walk freely amongst you and I?
Is the problem somehow intertwined with fame? Or is it us? Our upbringing perhaps?

How has society devolved to such an amoebic state?
Is it society?

Is the media to blame? With its bombastic bombardment of numbing and desensitizing violence?
Can I really put the blame on something tangible, or is chaos and destruction a force generated by all of us?

Or is there a languor in leaders and role models today that inspires such blasphemy?
If it is a force that is responsible, what ignited its flame?

How can I go on, knowing the scum I apprehend will only be released with open arms by the very public that is terrorized by such criminals?
I can’t believe how complicated life can be.

Is evil, then, the common characteristic of mankind, and good a minority?
I can’t believe how easily it can all be lost.

Is this some morbid tradition passed on to us from Jesus and Barabas?
I can’t believe Lawrence Fishburn was a cast member on Pee Wee’s Playhouse.

Or am I the cause? Perhaps I haven’t been as effective as I strive to be.
Or am I the cause? Perhaps I haven’t been as effective as I strive to be.

Is this what my frustration roots from? Do I feel partially to blame?
Is this what my frustration roots from? Do I feel partially to blame?

What are you doing?
What are you doing?

Stop repeating everything I say.
Stop repeating everything I say.

Seriously. Shut up.
No you shut up.

Why don’t you make me?
Because I don’t make monkeys, I only trade ‘em!

Whatever. I think the real question is, do I work to prevent injustice or to merely thwart the intentions of evildoers or both?
Jeez, I apologize. Again, do I act so impudently out of instinct, or are external factors responsible or both or neither?

Dear God! Why OJ?! Why me?! Will I ever understand it?!
For the sake of the Groundlings! Why must creation be accompanied by destruction?! Why?!

Ahh. Existence. What a bitter, piercing pill it is to swallow.
Pfff. Life. What a turbulent rollercoaster it is to ride.

"No one thinks they're bad." --Robert McKee

2005-12-29T22:48:00.000-08:00

"Did you see us fighting? No? TRAP!!!!!!!" Want the context? Then I guess you'll just have to buy the Serenity DVD and watch the outtakes now bluh.

So last week I was talking to my favorite fetus-spitter in the whole hemisphere, Garrett Shikuma, about that prehensile delight of gorilla filmmaking known as King Kong (the P. Jackie edition, naturally) and GShik mentioned how the whole heaving thing completely held up on the second viewing. The only exception was that he couldn't understand the screen time given to the relationship between the black guy (was his name Hayes? For the purposes of this post it will be) and Jimmy. At the time, I gave a pathetic speculation on the why and wherefore of this particular friendship, but even then I knew I was reaching.
Well, over Christmas I took my family to see Kong and altho due to a power outtage in Escondido that shorted out the entire theater just as the epic tyranosaur battle concluded (GROAR!), I kept Garrett's predicament in mind the whole time I watched the first half of the movie again and by Saint George's dragon I think I may have figured it out.
If there's any two things this movie is about, it's desperation and relationships. Set during the Depression era, the movie shows us a time when public-wide poverty left us with nothing but the companionship of each other. Even when you look at the film's opening montage, the longest-held image at the zoo is of two monkeys hanging together on a branch after which we see shots such as two hobos sleeping head-to-head on juxtapositioned benches, children playing stickball together, etc. We're told that in desperate times, the only way people survive is by bonding together to take our minds off our squalid surroundings. And our leading protagonists need as strong relationships as they can get because they're as desperate as they come--Naomi Watts is literally starving from unemployment, Jack Black in anything he does to salvage his career, Adrien Brody in quartering himself in an animal cage just to finish a B-movie screenplay, the ship's captain as he's willing to endanger his crew by being bullied by a mad filmmaker, heck, even Kong is desperate in that he's the last of his species. These characters latch onto each other to escape their lonely, troubled lives but these pair-ups don't seem to last because there's a monkey on the back of each relationship, and it's not Kong. The problem is that while many of these characters match with some kind of mate to ease their current misery of a larger problem looming over their heads, many of these characters dream of a fabulous future meaning that as soon as opportunity strikes, they're gonna abandon the "now" along those people associated with it that helped them thru this troubled time. This is why poor Naomi keeps getting let down--she's not looking for fame and fortune, she's just trying to survive in the now. This is probably why she hits it off with the Brody--like her, he's not dreaming of lobster dinners and Model T motor rides, he just wants to create theatre. The only difference is that he is only desperate in that he does what's necessary to create (aka, he has the luxury of not starving for his craft) whereas Naomi does what's necessary to survive. And because of this, she has a stronger and truer character, an indomitable spirit--she may be hungry, but she won't go nudey to compromise her soul (all that she has left in the world) whereas Brody's a successful playwright but he'll let Jack Black lock him in a cage to dictate a screenplay. But likewise, Naomi's sense of survival is what lends her such a powerful bond with Kong--she's a pseudo-hobo ekeing out a living in the concrete jungle; he's an animal fighting for life in the jungle jungle. But whereas everyone else is trying to abandon their poor, simple lives, Kong, being a wild creature, teaches Naomi to embrace this existence therefore teaching her to embrace herself as she is and not a noble pipedream of what she can be. In the entire movie, it's not the glamorous moments such as becoming a screen starlet or romancing her creative hero that make Naomi happiest, it's the littler, simpler moments like working the vaudeville stage, sleeping in Kong's hand, or skating on the ice with him in Central Park. Since she's the only one to really get to know Kong, to see his vulnerable side, she's the only one who receives such self revelation and contentment making her happy in the reality of now with his company instead of torturing herself with an imaginary ideal she can never attain. Likewise, by treating him like an equal, Naomi teaches Kong that he can be the gentle creature gorillas are meant to be instead of the savage monster facade he had to assume for the pressures of retaining his king of jungle status. These two characters can truly be themselves around each other and since that's all either character really wants in life, to just be themselves, they share the strongest relationship of the film.
With all that out of the way, let's look at the other "monkey-backed" pair-ups. The first of the movie is Naomi's vaudeville family, with old Sneezy as the father figure. Sure, she's not making any money, but she's surrounded by like-minded performers doing what they love, so she's happy living "in the act," trusting in daddy-Sneezy to provide for the family and sustain it. Unfortunately, by not living in the now and with financial setbacks looming over his head, Sneezy dreams of returning to his glory days in Chicago and therefore sells out the theatre to try and escape his "now" and therefore abandoning Naomi with it. Then we have Jack Black and his assistant. Jack latches onto his assistant because being a biscuit away from being washed-up with incessant studio threats looming over his head, it is his assistant who is the only one who actually listens to him and treats him as the respected artist that Jack envisions himself to be. But it's this envisioning that keeps putting Jack back in the pickle farm--to compensate for his constant failure he acts like the visionary director he isn't: he keeps thinking too big, setting standards he can never reach and envisioning epics he can never direct thus creating disaster for himself and everyone around him. He is so deluded in his daydreams, in fact, that he willingly expends the lives of his crew on Skull Island in the name of his picture, his legacy. And in his vehement fear of failure, to escape his hack status, when his film is finally demolished, he's willing to risk more lives to capture Kong just to see his name flashing on Broadway. And as soon as he becomes the toast of New York, what does he do? Abandon his assistant, the one person who stuck by him in his career crisis and thus leading to their awkward stare in the operahouse. Of course, part of this falling-out can be contributed to the assistant finally seeing Jack as a deluded egomaniac and separating himself from him and therefore becoming a sympathetic realist instead of a selfish dreamer. When we come to Brody and Naomi's relationship, it eventually falls apart not because a gorilla comes between them (which it does) and especially not because he hopes he's more than he is (because he doesn't), but because he sees her as more than she is. He falls for her because he envisions her to be an ideal, loving her for her potential as a glamorous movie and theater starlet instead of the poor, trusting woman and comedienne she is. But thru losing her he arcs and learns what he had and therefore learns to accept people for who they are and not for who they could become and he stands with her on top of the Empire State Building to say, "I understand now. I understand you. I understand what you've lost. I understand everything and altho you've lost everything, you haven't lost yourself. And that's the one thing I don't want to lose again." The Captain and Hayes. Being the loyal and professional sailor, Hayes follows whatever orders the Captain gives and the Captain respects Hayes as his most dependable crewman. But the Captain's back-monkey is his ship, the need to keep it going adventure after adventure to make a hefty profit. And because of this greed, he ultimately imperils Hayes and his whole crew by letting Jack Black manipulate him, and by the time he fully realizes you can't put a price on human life, it's too late and he's lost the best of his crew, with Hayes among the body count. And this brings us to the original point of this manifesto: why Hayes and Jimmy's relationship belongs in the film. As I see it, Hayes has lived nothing but a life of adventure making him the penultimate bad-ass. Granted, it's exciting, but has he ever experienced true love? Is life on the open sea anywhere to raise a family? Being raised on weaponry, wilderness, and swashbucklery, could he give this all up and join the real-world workforce even if he wanted to? The answer is probably no to all accounts and of course it's a regret and a morbid curiosity he always had to live with. Don't get me wrong. Hayes is amazing at his job and I do think he enjoys and accepts his station in life, but I also think that that "what if" is something that's always in the back of his mind. Jimmy, on the other hand, comes from an abusive background and has no real lot in life and therefore is the ultra-dreamer--to escape his past and lack of identity he sees life on the open-seas as an euphorically adventurous and optimistic dream. And being someone with no real identity and a thirst for bravery and excitement, it's only natural that he'd look up to Hayes. He wants to be like his "mentor" and therefore his back-monkey of infatuation is to become just like him which he feels he can only do by being as manly and courageous as possible. Hayes, altho finding his job respectable in its own way, does what Brody did to Naomi and sees unmatched potential in Jimmy and doesn't want him to live with the "what if" that plagues himself. Therefore, Hayes wants Jimmy to live a "real" life and become more than just a sailor--to seize opportunities and youth as Hayes himself never took advantage of. Their relationship fits into the movie because they're the anti-Kong and Naomi--whereas Kong and Naomi were able to see self-truth in each other, Jimmy and Hayes only see each other as ideals: Jimmy as the uncharted youth with all the world available for his success, and Hayes as a real-world Superman. Of course, being a relationship based on what-could-be instead of what-is, it ends badly: Hayes, living up to his adventurer stereotype, sacrifices himself so that Jimmy may live and tap into his unbridled potential. Unfortunately, I see Hayes' self-sacrifice as strengthening his romantic deification in Jimmy's eyes which will probably prod the lad even more so into becoming his hero, meaning he'll spend the his life trying to live up to the glorification of Hayes therefore cycling him into the self-destructive desperation of trying to be something he's not that plagues so many other characters in this movie.
And to clarify, I don't think this film's message is that dreaming and aiming high leads to disappointment--to the contrary, it's good to dream for the sake of self-betterment, but not to abandon your identity and roots. The problem with the dreamers in this movie is that they don't want to be better people, they just want to have better stations in life. Success shouldn't happen for the sake of escape, it should come from accepting and utilizing your self and surroundings and making the most of both. Recognize your potential but don't distance yourself from what you are. When you're not true to yourself, you ultimately deny yourself of success because you will never find yourself and therefore never find where you belong and become as incongruous as a 50 foot ape roaming the streets of New York. And when you become a fish outta water that big, that's when you get shot down by the biplanes. So once you know yourself, you'll know what you want in life and how to obtain it, even if it means climbing the Empire State Building or hijacking a boat to Skull Island to get it. Draw your dreams from motivation, not desperation and you'll be all right kids. Just don't get stepped on by a brontosaurus.
Well, I hope this has been on-base and has helped some Garrett. As far as the image, a cashier at work gave me a new pair of Doc Marten wingtips for absolutely spanking free, so her being a Tim Burton fan, I made this drawring for her as a thank you and I'm posting it as a thank you to those of you who actually read this whole post. Granted, there's a lot to this pic I don't like, but then there's also a lot I do, so I don't know how to finish this sentence. Til next time.

Your Scrumptious Spoonful of Supervillain Sugar,
Osgood

"Dimension mean contradiction." --Robert McKee

2005-12-23T00:36:00.000-08:00

Anyone who is little enuf can live in his own pants. What? Got your attention? Good--it's time for Inspiration Down!:

KONG!!!!
Have you SEEN this MOVIE?! I mean have you SEEN it?! As film-freshening as Serenity is, I'm sorry Chia and Tokyo Rose Shikuma, when it comes to best movie of the year it'll have to shuffle to the second spot behind the magilla known as Kong. I don't think I can remember the last time I saw a movie that was so simultaneously astounding, inspiring, thrilling, hilarious, and heart-breaking all wrapped into one premiere pectorial pounding (fine, Serenity aside). The acting is enthralling, the fx are eye-lavishing (both in part to a rare thanks to mocap) and doode--a whole hour on Skull Island (not to be confused with Candy Apple Island). Not even the sickly Adrien "James" Brody could bring this movie down with his Pangea-nose and retard eyes. Please, Hollywood, look to success stories like Jackson and Pixar and see how creator-control can culture movie magic and while you're at it, give Peter Jackson his second Oscar and Naomi Watts and Andy Serkis their respective firsts.

And not to make waste of a perfectly prior Serenity reference, yes this fab film is now on DVD meaning owning it should be prioritized over eating, sleeping, unko ji, and Hannukah so dust off your rump spatula and pry those johnny-cheeks from your 'puter chair, strap them into your jetpack, and up-and-atom to your localest Best Buy for some Whedonesque intergalactic planetary. You deserve it!

And while we're talking DVD:

Simpsons Season 7--The season to almost end all seasons. Not only does this season contain my all time favorite episode--22 Short Stories About The People of Springfield--but it has a swell little animator featurette for the season finale where after 16 years, the animators teach Matt Groening how to construct his own characters (no joke!). The animated and voice acting is the strongest yet, and altho the episode stories keep yarning into the more outlandish, this season has some of the most tender and humanizing moments of any show ever. And thanks to the commentaries, I finally get an explanation to why I love Superintendent Chalmers so much--he's the Jimmy Stewart/Porky Pig of Springfield--the one character with a real world mentality that looks to the world around him and sees that things are just utterly daffy. And part of the fun to these sets for me is to see which characters the writing staffs latch onto--in Conan's day it was Mr. Burns, season 6 had Groundskeeper Willie, and this season's reigning gag champ is hands-down Milhouse. Plus you get to see the startling amount of gags trimmed out for syndication--including a jail sequence with WDW reader, college roommate, and friend Dr. Colossus. For that, you're now "on notice" syndication, and I WILL be writing my Congressman to recommend the detoeing of your feet and the spackling of your windpipe. You just got SERVED syndication! That's right! You mess with the well-wishers of World Domination Weekly, you mess with Rosemary Clooney and The Little Smithsonian (aka, my fists).

Batman Volume 4--FINALLY I can own DVD-quality versions of favorite episodes as Over The Edge, Holiday Knights, Old Wounds, foxyboxing, and such and such. This collection is stylistic heaven--from the incessant blood red Gotham skyline to the black-eyed Joker to the shift in making episodes that are totally character-driven, glory glory Bat-a-lulah! And which way to TMS?!

And yes, I am all for a road trip to MOMA for the Art of Pixar Exhibit, but only if we can stop here along the way:
http://www.reccardi.com/files/pages/galaxie.html

And rounding out the Inspiration Down is cough-drop company Halls, or as I like to now call it, the Willy Wonka of Medicine. I'm just getting over a cougar of a cold and I gotsta say, because of Halls, the last two weeks have been one fruity, symptom-covering slice of flavor country. From their tangy Vitamin C drops to their sharp Strawberry Cough drops to the shockingly creamy Fruit Breezers, my mouth has been in heaven while the rest of me has been in hell. So those of you sniffing back those sniffles, turn to the good goobers of Halls and taste healthy again.

And altho originally planning to save this for a couple more posts, I thought I'd merry Garrett's Christmas and alienate the rest of my readership with Page 5 at long last. Stay tuned for the 6th and final page--so Merry Christmas Garrett and Merry Christmas moviehouse!

"In comedy laughter settles all arguments." --Robert McKee

2005-12-13T18:38:00.000-08:00

I don't care WHAT the Huns grumble--I am a superswank nisei, conquistador, and antidepressant all rolled into one nifty lopsided little lad. Thanks to my embargo of gymnasium-ready microphones, Bavaria has gone the leg-trickling way of Guatemala in naming me Tyrannical Pope and Precentor. So let this be a lesson kids--never underestimate the lethality of a good embargo. That's right, the embargo. Not only do embargoes open up international negotiations like a handshake in peroxide, but they're a ceaseless surge of unnecessary power--they make ya feel like a global bully stealing the trade hat of a smaller country classmate and holding it outta reach on that orbital schoolyard we call planet earth. Plus it's just fun to say! Embargo! Em-bar-go. Embargo. Heh.
Also, it's official. The greatest blog post ever made has been....well, made. Curious? Just click on Publick Nuisance in my links column, read the December 8th post, and realize just how oafish, ugly, and unentertaining your own blog really is. Happened to me!
And today's artwork? Well I have a couple-a friends who will soon be privileged enuf to mecca to NorCal to work on the new Clone Wars show and these are the character drawings I made them as part of their congratulation cards. And ya know, it's funny. I have eleven countries trembling under my ruthless fist, and yet, I'm no good at goodbyes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have something in my eye.

Oh wait. It's just my pupil. Hell it, I'll end this post anyway. Churros!

"The first draft of anything is shit." --Ernest Hemingway

2005-12-04T17:38:00.000-08:00

Dammit! Tagged again! I guess it's back to eating crackers in the shower for me. No but seriously, does Microsoft offer tag-blocker software? Or is it just as simple as simply not responding to the tag? No, but I'm too proud a supervillain to back away from a challenge. Just like that time I was hanging wif my bad self at the lodge and The Elbow (a villain visiting our local chapter from Canada) dared me I didn't have the follicles to go thru with matricide. Please! Not only did I kill my bed, but I went the bonus banana and drove the lad mad by using his own distrust of motorcar hygiene against him! Ha! I guess the UN won't be receiving any pirated threat transmissions from The Elbow any time soon. Also, a middle-aged autistic woman grabbed me by my crotch at work this week. She got herself a handful of Matthew and I got myself 15 seconds of social and physical awkwardity. Fair trade! So here is my tag fully honored--If I Were A Ninja, What Would I Do? If it's subpar, then blame TCM for having a Woody Allen celebration the night I did it. Television, I love you but why do you distract me so?

"A man is only what he contributes to the human race. The heroes are the thinkers, poets, painters, and musicians. And the layperson is only important to the degree that he knows them." --Steve Martin

2005-11-26T14:49:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone! Get to know your duckbills and ceratops!

"This I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost." --John Steinbeck

2005-11-18T18:27:00.000-08:00

Howdy y'all! Here's hoping that your week went gravier than gravy without a single turtle head to poke out! I myself am doing all that and a hamper fulla monkey paws even in the face of Alina tagging me again. Well, I may be tagged, but at least I don't cry whenever I smell limestone. Anymore. So here's my "design-a-goil." Meet Hai Minh--part of a kabuki villain team I'm developing for the A-Go-Go. I was gonna put off posting her until I was finished with the whole group, but being tagged has forced me to serve her out as a spoiler. Sorry folks, but that's just following the proper protocol according to The International Rulebook of Blogtag. This one's outta my hands.
As far as my other rippling pictorials go, when things are slow at work I doodle what's been dubbed as "trading cards" on our blank appointment tabs. These are obviously a few of sed cards. I wish I could elaborate here but....
...hey look! A new paragraph! Whoo, I got outta that cucumber nicely. And while I'm changing the subject, here's the latest Inspiration Down!:

Beavis & Butt-head: The Mike Judge Collection Disc 3--nothing against the cartoons themselves, but laff for laff Disc 3 is where this collection's AT!--from 11 music videos to VMA appearances to quite possibly the funniest Thanksgiving special TV has ever snowed into reception, I once drank a pint of pure gasoline and did NOT enjoy it!

Ducktales Vol. 1--Plot holes, cliched catchphrases, and absurdisms aside (Huey disarming a torpedo with a marble, anyone?), I still thinks this cartoon stands as the greatest adventure show and next to the Genie, Scrooge McDuck stands as my favorite Disney character; he has the moral values to always put family first like Alan Thicke, but is greedy and underhanded enuf that he enjoys fighting dirty like Indiana Jones. I LOVE THIS SHOW!

Home Movies Season 3, Disc 2--Featurette Man With Afro Jogging (self-explanatory) and The Making of Man Shooting .22 Caliber Rifle which shows why David Cross is funnier with one sentence than most comedians are with a whole routine!

Word to your uncles!

"We rarely know where we're going: writing is discovery." --Robert McKee

2005-11-08T00:26:00.000-08:00

Have I REALLY not posted since Halloween? Ben Kingsley's Junior does time fly when you're studying the parallels of camels and bottled ham (and just where DOES all that water go?) not to mention finding out the hard way that no matter how many morays you bury in your backyard, it is physically impossible to grow an "eel tree." I even got so desperate for it to work that I Scotch-taped a bunch of dead eels to the branches of a sycamore (marking the eighth time that I've ever taped seafood to a tree) but before I had a chance to even show anyone my cheated scientific breakthru, coyotes had, well, I don't really wanna talk about this anymore.
So I went down to San Diego this weekend to visit my family, and for whatever rizneazon, whenever I go down there, I'm jerked into the unshakable urge to draw from magazines, the TV, and photographs. So here's a bunch of sketches from last weekend including my mediocre first attempt at Stephen Colbert (my once and future king), a Gentleman, Rorschach, John Krasinsky, my good friend Eren Blanquet, and The Gute and his Mrs. dressed as a karate kid and a geisha, respectively.
And while I'm mentioning Stephen Colbert, I just wanna emphasize that The Colbert Report is the most scrumptilescent show on television today! Granted, praise Peter for Arrested Development, My Name Is Earl, The Office, and South Park, but Colbert is the only one out of all these shows that consistently radiates hilarity not just one night a week, BUT FOUR! And dare I say it, along with a few other airwave factors of course, the man is causing me to actually have faith in TV again. He has stood as one of America's great satirists since his stint on The Dana Carvey Show, and he remains the master to this day with his deft delivery, proverbial punchlines, and swell segments such as "Worthy Opponent" (where he debates himself on the issues of today) and The Threat List (where he insists we should fear bears more than terrorists and hurricanes). Go to hell Daily Show, and try to pick up some gravitas while you're there!

"While memory gives us whole chunks of life, imagination takes fragments, slivers of dream, and chips of experience that seem unrelated, then seeks their hidden connections and merges them into a whole." --Robert McKee

2005-10-31T01:13:00.000-08:00

"To make change meaningful it must, to begin with, happen to a character. If you see someone drenched in a downpour, this has somewhat more meaning than a damp street."
--Robert McKee

2005-10-17T03:12:00.000-07:00

So evidently, I've been blog-tagged by Alina Chau to post 20 things about myself. Gentleman that I am, I will honor this tag, but honor it only. Anything more and the tag will have to wait until at least the second date and only after getting a little wine in me first.

1. Not only am I the first person to be run over by a toilet plunger, but I'm the first colored person to oppose pastrami.

2. I lost my genitals to lacrosse.

3. I have engraved my name on every gravestone in San Clemente.

4. I have robbed an obstetrics clinic with nothing but a sandal.

5. I stand as the sole heir to the Milton-Bradley dynasty.

6. If I had freeway onramps for arms, I would use them to deal blackjack.

7. If given the choice between Pee Wee Herman, Kublai Khan, or a paranoid chinchila, I would probably choose the lasagna.

8. My favorite word is hullabaloo.

9. My least favorite word is "neatly-trimmed beard."

10. My favorite finger is Darryll.

11. I consider myself more diocesan than ecumenical, even tho I'm not sure what either of these words means.

12. My favorite curse word is "poopdick."

13. Gertrude Stein once compared me to a "lemur awakening from a coma in a sundress."

14. I curse my overbearing machismo.

15. I once dreamed an entirely original, black-and-white noir film.

16. My all-time favorite movie scene is the deleted bit from Anchorman where Ron Burgundy hassles the innocent little old man on his own doorstep.

17. My all-time favorite quote is courtesy of Daffy Duck: "I'm different from other people; pain hurts me."

18. I am in animation today due to a profound coincidence involving the name "Mike Maltese."

19. If I were stranded on an arctic tundra (again), the 5 DVDs I would have in my parka would be:

The Incredibles
Rushmore
Anchorman
Austin Powers
South Park: The Movie

20. I constantly overuse the words plenipotentiary, again, handmade, omnivorous, and the.

"No one can teach what will sell, what won't, what will be a smash or a fiasco, because NO ONE KNOWS." --Robert McKee

2005-10-13T21:30:00.000-07:00

Oh golly--how long have I been away this time? Time absolutely comafies when you lead an expedition searching for the elusive Cincinatti Condor. Why the Cincinatti Condor? To massage it, slaughter, smoke, and jerk it and then take the carcass wholesale and sell it as bottled ham (Kenya has cut off my quota for giraffe tenderloins). Since I'm still recovering from work last week and am feeling too bourgeousie to post any art, I'll just again plug my current inspirations:

BIG reminder: Serenity and Wallace & Gromit are still out in theaters--do yourself a goldmine as an entertainment artist and see both, PARTICULARLY Serenity since its numbers are dwindling like the Grand Canyon's lemming population.

TV: NBC Tuesday nights! My Name Is Earl and The Office are phenoms of comedic acting and are just downright, well, fun!
Lost--this show drives me crazier and crazier with the week--my hairline is already receding and it doesn't need the further aggravation of an annual Wednesday night hair pulling. But Hurley is cooler than ever, Charlie's becoming a total bitch, Locke is getting creepier, wound for wound Sawyer is more and more becoming something out of Weekend at Bernie's, and Kate looks friggin YUMMY when wearing only water and a towel! And I'm assuming she's Canadian or American Indian, 'cause there's no way a desert island razor can produce such succulent, hairless legs.

Comics: Powers! The storytelling is scrumptilescent as always, but Michael Avon Oeming has been on his GAME for the last two issues of art! Best comic out there hands down!
Also, I gots me the new Mignola-style Hellboy action figure! So superswank, I took the coat and gun from my old Graphitti Hellboy, threw him out, and decked out the new one. Will the new Buzz Lightyear please stand up?

And biggest of all--South Park Season 6 on DVD! I've been saying for years that Trey Parker is the only person in entertainment keeping satire alive since The Simpsons started going downhill, and this collection poofs my theory fact. Considering the collection includes such episodes as Jared Has Aides, South Park in Aspen, Cartman on Maury Povich, Free Hat, Gawrddam Mongorians, the ladder to heaven, Lemmiwinks, John Edwards: The Biggest Douche in the Universe, Rob Schneider in Durpity Durp, and Red Sleigh Down where Santa gets shot down over Iraq and it's up to Jesus and Mr. Hanky to save him, you will guffaw your pants peepeed. And best of all, each episode has a mini commentary by Trey and Matt! Granted, I can always listen to Trey talk, but these commentaries are great! By keeping 'em short, Trey and Matt never overstep their welcome: they get in, say what needs to be sed, and get the heck outta there before the episode is even half over. And not only do they discuss their comedic theory, but they address topics such as their experiences with Russell Crowe and Steven Spielberg, their real life frustration of finding out how half their ideas have already been done by The Simpsons, the evils of boobs, how a trip to China inspired the Gawrddam Mongorians, and why they don't condone the eating of babies. Bliss. Physical bliss!

And now, a real conversation I had at work:

Chick: "Um, how much to draw one of these?"
Me: "Well, for one like I'm doing now, it costs $28 a person."
Chick: "Oh, well, then how much does it cost to NOT draw one of these?"
Me: "Uh, well, to not draw one of these would be the same as not doing one at all which means there would be no business transaction between the two of us, so technically, it would be....free?"
Chick: "Ok. See ya later."

And to prove that miracles do happen, my roommate Devon opened an individually wrapped Fruit Roll-Up to find TWO Fruit Roll-Ups inside! Keep at it tiger!

"If anyone starts taking himself too seriously, he is certain to become a target sooner or later."
--Ollie Johnston

2005-10-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

All I have to post today is a prodigious plea with everyone to go out there and see both Serenity and Wallace & Gromit. The both of them stand as not only the most intelligent, well-made films I've seen this year, but also feature the strongest characters to slide onto the silver screen in a while. Mr. Whedon and Mr. Park adore their creations and not one second of that love is not reflected in the incessant entertainment value in both films. The direction is impeccable in each, the acting is flawless, and both brim to the buttocks with wit and thrills. Storytelling is back, babies, and if they do wicked well, well, finally there can be two feature franchises I'll gladly throw my wallet at, sequel after sequel. No but seriously, you're alright.

"I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use." --Galileo Galilei

2005-09-30T12:49:00.000-07:00

Today's inspiration:

I've recently started taking Chuck Jones framegrabs from some Looney Tunes DVDs I got last Christmas and I've rediscovered the wonderful little "Baby Buggy Bunny." Of course, it's got the standard-fantastic staging and timing of the best Chuck shorts, but I've fallen in love with this cartoon for a pair of princely priorities:

1. The attention to detail in the bg layouts. Altho Bugs always plays himself in his cartoons, we rarely get the privilege of staying this long in his rabbit-hole, and the way his home is decorated is a sthpectacular view into the nibbly nuances of his character: from the modern frames on the walls to the carrot arrangements on the table to the map-design carpet, some elements are surprising, some are familiar, but all feel like Bugs. Noble, Jones, and co. really hugged the unicycle on this one kids.

2. The surprisingly brutal violence in this cartoon that's a brilliant blend of funny and "OH DEAR GAWD!!!!" Granted, Warner Bros. shorts are known for their ruckuses, but for those of you who have access to this film, check out the scene where Finster takes the bat to Bugs. There really isn't anything funny about the realistic way Bugs crumples up as he's being bludgeoned, but somehow you're forced to laff at this shockingly all-too-honest portrayal of a bat-beating. Even more disturbing--the way Bugs shakes the baby like a British nanny after discovering his convict secret. The voice track by Mel Blanc here is just so.....angry that, thru his voice alone, you feel every last jostle as Bugs ruffs the crap outta the infant. I can almost picture Chuck sitting down with his animators and lecturing, "Um, yeah, I kinda let Mel go a little too far with this in the booth. Eh, can you guys bring it down a little thru the action?" Ahh. Good times, gooood teyemes.

"A cartoon character only lives when the whole drawing, as well as the parts, reflect the attitude, the personality, the acting, and the feeling of the character." --Frank Thomas

2005-09-29T13:50:00.000-07:00

Hi there tilt-a-girls and manwiches. Yes it has again been a bundle since last you've heard from moy, but rest assured I have not forgotten my responsibilities to this blog or to the exploits in global conquer that it chronicles as frequently as my jai alai tournament schedule allows. My absence was not outta neglect, nay, but rather due to assignments from my mentor, minor prison time, a dead bonobo, two AA batteries, a pinch of Cholula, overuse of the phrase "got any cheese?," and an addiction to what's called "dumpster freshening." Sadly, it's still gonna be a long whistle before Garrett gets to glimpse himself drawn "full mast" as the pirates say (I know, Garrett, I know--a pregnant pause doesn't mean you should literally have to wait 9 months for the next page). But I wanted to post to address a few specs:

If you haven't already, check out the blog of my friend, frijole hydrant, and Number 2 henchman, Eric Gonzalez at The Gute Spot-- ericgonzalez.blogspot.com Eric works at Cartoon Network on that show, eh, you know, about those, uh, make-em-up pals. With the bacon? He doesn't have much posts now, but once he gets rolling, he's not quite a mop, he's not quite a puppet, but man can he...so to answer your question I don't know. Oh. You didn't ask a question? Well in that case let me just get you to look over there as I--NUHLAVEN!

Also, for those of you who missed, never heard of, or just ignored it, Drew Carey's GreenScreen Show is now being rerun on Comedy Central! So if you wanna see all the happy fruits of my scanning, clean-up, painting, and (miniscule) inbetweening kitchen-office labor for that show, check it out while it's back dudemeisters! (FDA warning: this show is proven to cause phantom pregnancy, ingrown earlobes, and genital diabetes in lab donkeys. Viewer discretion is advised)

And why the SHIT do I watch Lost?! All this screwy season thus far has done is remind me how that show just utterly screws and screws and screws and screws again and again and again with my mind like a tasmanian devil stuck in neutral. I would boycott this mindfrig of a show if I could just stop watching it!

And hey everyone--SERENITY!!!!!!

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day." --H.L. Mencken

2005-09-21T04:10:00.000-07:00

Is it time for a new post already? For some of ya, it's been too long. For others, it's been too much. And for others still--GET OFF MY LAWN! Well it's not exactly my lawn (altho my rent does contribute to its maintenance). The point remains, however, that a magician's yard is no place to shave a lamp. Oh, look at this--I'm wasting everyone's time with yet another trademark, go-nowhere tangent. Well I like attention so let's make it two--what is the DEAL with admirals? Do they actually think those huge-puge hats make them look all bad-ass and kewl? RIGHT! Napoleon is not cool--he was a frumpy midget who had to ride a great dane into battle and he smelled like post it notes and string beans and died of raucous venereal disease because he was a filthy skank. What's that? Your dad likes Napoleon? Yeah, well your dad's lame! How many lines has it taken now to get to the "point" of today's post? Who cares--I'm having a wonderful time!

Okay, fine. By popular demand (and by popular, I mean the two voices of outcry from last post's comments column), here is Page 4 of the comic where, finally, we enter the Garrett. Now I don't know if it's because I know what's to come, but when I was redrawing this page, every time I redid a Garrett, I just started laffing and shaking my head, which was actually quite refreshing seeing that I usually don't laff at my own stuff (with exceptions to adorable caricatures of Chris Allison, Alex Deligiannis, and Greg Rankin, esq.s). I even contemplated in dressing little Garrett up in a mocap suit, but not only am I not that heartless, but I didn't want to deal with drawing his "pudding pop thighs" in a black leotard with motion bulbs dangling to and fro. But just because Garrett's arrived doesn't mean his cameo is over--why'd he come? What's in his mouth? What's he gonna do about it?--but don't pout from gout, dear readers, for all Shitake-ma-related queries will be answered in Page 5--stay tuned for the unsettling results! I ain't afraid a no ghosts!

"Is it the wicked leaders who lead innocent populations to slaughter, or is it wicked populations who choose leaders after their own hearts?" --T.H. White

P.S.--This post is dedicated to NBC, for making television worth watching again Tuesday nights with the return of The Office and the new, surprisingly wacky My Name Is Earl. And when did Ethan Supplee lose all that weight? Goodnight nurse!

2005-09-17T21:58:00.000-07:00

Let's see. What topic should I use to avoid getting to the point (if any) of today's post? Penguins and typewriters? The miracle of fish protein concentrate? The fact that matricide is only legal in Honduras when it happens under the bleachers of a bullfight? Oh I know! Dexter the Last Dinosaur! A show I don't remember at all so I'll just say this instead--Scarborough. Ha ha! I am such a clever little fellow. I have no idea why they won't let me back into Holland. All I want to do is taste their snow! Lousy anti-mail order bride laws. Oookay then. So my big recommendation for youse guys, my dearest of dear WDW readers, is by using mostly spoons, a viewmaster, and a discarded beanie propeller, construct yoself a makeshift crowbar to jimmy your thighs off your computer chair so that you may get up and out and buy the wonderful Serenity visual companion and screenplay (pictured above). Altho I'm waiting until after September 30th until I even GLIMPSE at the screenplay portion, the first 40 pages are an enthralling Q&A with Joss as well as "Joss On" sections where he explains his decisions on camera, lighting, and music and Sweet Pirate Lincoln it is impossible not to devour every last shred of insight Joss throws on the page! FANTASTIC, FANTASTIC, FANTASTIC book!

And as far as today's image, I've taken just about 500 framecaptures from the four seasons of Futurama, but this capture from "300 Big Boys" is by far my favorite. I think it's interesting yet simultaneously discouraging that the shows with the best ensembles tend to get souped on. Don't get me started on the losses of Newsradio or Firefly (or even the dismal ratings for Arrested Development), but in the case of Futurama, the "big boys" episode is the perfect showcase for the sitcom's dynamic character line-up--EVERY character has their own subplot, even infrequent regulars such as Scruffy the janitor. There are shows out there that don't know what to do with even their main characters, and yet Futurama spanked the rooster at utilizing its whole cast to comedic effulgence with the simple premise: What would each character do if they were given $300? The result: a uniquely hilarious rainbow of situation comedy. Plus a whale getting gastro. My ancestors came from Ireland.

"If it takes a million years for a fish to become a reptile, has Man, in our few hundred, altered out of recognition?" --T.H. White

2005-09-16T16:35:00.000-07:00

So I am currently right crack in the middile of having 3 days off from work and I must say, it is GLORIOUS! And it's none too soon--I've never noticed this before, but (this year anyway) there's sumpin about the passing of Labor Day that turns people criznozzy. Don't believe me? Here's just a few of the kooks I've observed this week: let's see. There was the racist grandma who hated Koreans because they are, to quote, "filthy and packed with disease." There was the little boy that whenever he had the urge to cough, he would only do so into his mother's hand (and no, he was not Korean--so much for YOUR thesis old lady). There was the guy I saw jogging with a pipe in his mouth. There was the magician's wife whom I caught washing a sink full of rocks last night. And of course, there were the two little girls who played the following game: they stand front to back. The girl behind the other clenches her fist and uses it to rap on the skull of the girl in front.
Behind Girl: Knock knock.
Front Girl: Who's there?
Behind Girl: (any nonsense word will do here) Shmoofle.
Front Girl: Shmoofle who?
Both girls then quickly face each other and start dancing and squealing in gibberish, then reassume their positions and take turns knocking on each other's heads.
Before I can question any of these fascinating people, I quickly remind myself that I live 20 minutes away from 3 different ecosystems (the mountains, the desert, and the ocean). Nearby hillsides sport mansions that neighbor illegal immigrant pup tents. Freeways are for parking, not driving. I work in a place where Belle and Cruella deVille put on their make-up side-by-side while discussing how all the princes are actually gay. My college diploma is signed by Arnold Schwarzenegger. I think of all these facts and they remind me, none of these people are really crazy--they're just in California, reality's Wonderland.

And now, jokes that don't make any sense:

What did the cyclops say to the astronaut?
2 scoops will do it.

Where does cheese come from?
Look in a mirror.

What's the difference between a sock and a polar bear?
When I eat a sock, I don't get a FULL ERECTION!

Sorry about that last one, but you'd be surprised at how often it scores laffs (yes, sadly, I've actually used that one before this post).

Anyhowser, we're now up to Page 3 of the comic. It is here that the story "structure" definitively decomposes under its own accord meaning nothing will make a spiff of sense ever again in these panels. And yes, Page 3 also marks the last shred of quiet before we're hit with the inappropriate hullabaloo caused by a surprise guest star (yes Garrett, your spotlight shines soon). Welcome to Gattaca, sons.

"There is absolutely no inevitability as long as there is the willingness to think." --Chuck Jones

2005-09-14T01:03:00.000-07:00

Today's blog is dedicated to my good friend and WDW reader Emmanuel Deligiannis whom I just found out scored a super huge happy fun size internship on Spongebob Squarepants. Congratulations Emmanuel, Nickelodeon is where the action is. Not to mention the money, the women, the power--OH THE GLORIOUS POWER!!!! Tell me how the champagne room is there and I do fully expect you to join our blogging community with your "The Daily This Guy," recounting your daily encounters with everyone's favorite manchild, George Rincon Jr. Why did I just get a visual from Of Mice & Men? Maybe because I like my flamingo well-done and nothing cooks tropical waterfowl better than a Steinbeck novella. And that makes the kind of sense that's not--goodnight nurse!

In other news, showing off what a pillar of maturity I am, I actually got scolded at work today for writing the word "poop" on a commission sheet that is to be sent to our corporate office in Florida. Granted, it was whited out before being sent, but my boss Holly just wanted to make sure she wouldn't have to white out two "p"s and two "o"s on a daily basis.

Other than my sketches of Deena from Powers, here's page 2 of my "24 hour" comic. Now for those of you who think that this "story" is going somewhere, let me put out the warning now that every page gets more and more content-abstract and disturbing than the last, so viewer discretion is advised dear readers. Seriously. I bet you smell like a pirate.

"I definitely feel that we cannot do the fantastic things based on the real, unless we first know the real." --Walt Disney

2005-09-10T04:07:00.000-07:00

So here's a slightly overdue story:

I work with a few romance-ridden gals who have made it their obsessive hobby to find me a girlfriend. Last week, one of these gals offered me an attempt to end the hunt by trying to introduce me to her cousin who, as she put it, "will really like you." Needless to say, I was quite skeptical but nonetheless she showed me a picture proving the cousin to be a cute blonde so I agreed to talk to her on the phone. A couple of uneventful conversations later, I was foolish enuf to keep an open mind. But then I found out about the four strikes. First, I learned that she lives two hours away in the high desert which would make for a very distant, inconvenient relationship. Strike one. Then, I learn she already has a boyfriend. Self-explanatory strike two. Next, I learn she is very cruel to sed boyfriend, verbally causing him to quote-on-quote "gape." Very solid strike three. So now the lid is on the coffin--we just need to nail it shut. And that nail comes the size of a teepee when I discover that this cousin, no joke now, is a member of the American Nazi Party. As much as I'm sure attending a white supremacy rally would make a fascinating first date, eh, I'll go with strike four instead. So now I've had to lay some ground qualities on my hapless matchmakers: If you insist on hooking me up, then make certain the girl

1. is a local.
2. is single.
3. doesn't have a tendency to "gape."
4. doesn't have a toothbrush mustache.

So now I'm pretty much waiting for these gals to find purpose in their lives beyond my love life. I'm sure they'll find it. After all, I once thought my purpose was to wrestle donkeys under the sea. And before that, to become chancellor elect of Polynesia by means of hypnosis. But I found myself. Eventually. Also, in a topic that is in NO way related, Thomas Kinkaid stopped by the caricature cart tonite (and he's a little chubby!).

And concerning today's image, I've decided to pull a Mark Andrews and rehaul my infamous 6 page 24 hour comic. Here's page 1. Stay tuned for more!

"We're going to conquer that mountain and, God, I can't wait to see what the view's going to be from up there." --Andrew Stanton

2005-09-08T23:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I suppose I have some explaining to do, don't I dear readers? So I, not being one to lie, am just gonna patch up the spatula and thank the pig for the box tops. Granted, the story of my whereabouts is a long one, but it's one filled with intrigue, fisticuffs, and mattress coolant at that, so cover up your car and relock your chastity belts 'cause we're going thru the looking glass on this one, Spartacii. Now, those of you who are regular readers of both World Domination Weekly and local Alta Deena dairy cartons have noticed that I've been missing for nearly two weeks now and I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Hey. Goober. Where've you been?" First off, don't you ever get off calling me a goober again or else I'll fix your ass for you! Second, yeah, I've been out. So shoot me. Ow! My heart! Ah! My ass! Ow my heart and ass. How did you do that anyway? I'm typing via internet, eh? right now and that doesn't even make sense. Well by golly I'll show you. You and that boy of yours. Anyhowser, it all started a couple weeks back when I was on a covert expedition to the Antarctic pole to check the efficiency of operations on Project: GWAR (which is nothing more than a radar-dodging lab dedicated to harvesting frozen mastodon tusks and converting them into an inexpensive rickshaw fuel--hey, just because I'm bent on global superiority doesn't mean I don't care about things like outdated Chinese transportation) when a "hammock-out-of-nowhere" as I like to call it coccooned itself amongst the protoblades which ruptured the electroionic stranifiers which reneged the ethalpy responsible for lubricating the dual turbopropellucular pistons and in short, caused my gyrocopter to crash in the frigid recesses of the subsouthern tundra. My pilot, Bosco Shabaz, also survived the blistery handshake with death, but as for little Short Round (or "Cody" as the Antarctic aborigines were so fond of calling him), well, he actually died two months ago in a band mishap involving a lethal overdose of triangle. So the "Baz" and myself aimlessly wandered thruout the glacial badlands with nothing to eat but wolverine hooves and melted hair. Our situation improved, however, once a rescue copter found us and flew us away to safety. Unfortunately, it turned out that the copter was nothing more than a hallucinatory mirage and even more unfortunately, we didn't realize this until we were well in the air and we freefell four stories into the yellow snow as the copter dissipated around us. So our situation worsened. But then in bettered. For the better. We stumbled upon a Laplander village, where I was able to trade the "Baz" for an ostrich. I wasn't able to ride it long, however, because apparently, ostriches aren't native to the Antarctic, and it froze to death and then posthumously died. But, being a student of the mad sciences, I was not only able to bring it back to life, but I created and added spare parts to bring it back as a mutant husky, a mutant pedigree with the bobbed tail of an Alaskan canine, the powerful thighs of an African running bird, and the full pouting lips of Tony Curtis. I was able to ride the huskrich to an abandoned weatherstation, but by that time I grew bored with it so I built a new huskrich, bred them both, and then slaughtered the whole pack to live off their radiant, mutant meat. The only thing to stave off "station fever" was a rusty telegraph press that smelled like an iron butt (if trains could fart...). Someone from another outpost kept contacting me on it, and even tho I am unfamiliar with Morse code, I was able to surmise from the rhythm and frequency of the telegraph beats that this someone was actually an illiterate Nazi abandoned and forgotten in Antarctic exile since WWII and he was using the telegraph to attack my manhood and incessantly call me "totally gay." Well was I really gonna sit there and take that from a bratwurst-scented douche dear readers? Reich hell I was! I thenceforth demolished the weather station to turn its pieces into a pair of crosscountry skis, but decided to throw them away when I realized I built them with too many wheels. So I began my ski-less hunt for my German adversary, imagining how I was gonna melt his face off with a hose. A two-night hike and seven Napoleon sightings later, I found the bastard's lair--an igloo constructed of cinder blocks, novelty mugs, and back issues of People magazine. It was time for a lesson you won't soon forget, Germy--McSonogram-style! I then knocked on his door and ran into the night giggling. But my giggling was cut to a muffled short when I ran guffaw-first into the back end of a polar bear. Once I peeled myself from its furry nethers, it reared up, but in such an adorable way, I never guessed that it did it to slash off my superfluous nipple. Oh no! The carnival would never hire me for that summer job now! I then realized I would have to fight back to survive. I was gonna punch the polar bear right in his polar face. Now, I don't know if you've ever fisted a polar bear to the jaw, dear reader, but it's hard. I mean, it's a jaw so dense you'll shatter every carpal in your hand hitting it. It's like trying to punch a tree in the abs. That's exactly why I punched it using a nightgown I had on my person. Luckily, it did the trick because the bear ended up being allergic to female evening wear, and it swelled up and died. Even luckier, the bear had been "tagged" by an environmental group and when they came to monitor it with a fresh tag the next day, I stowed away in its mouth as they drove its body to Antarctic civilization for a proper Christian burial. Once I clawed myself out of the bear's grave, I hotwired an environmentalist's jeep, drove myself to GWAR HQ, boarded the nearest gyroplane, and hopped on the good foot and did the bad thing. And now I'm back. And as you can see, I'm pushing blogspot's capacity for a "Links" column.

Real quick:

Best line from Simpsons Season 6: "What's a Chachie?"
Best (approximate) line from Woody Allen's "Love & Death:" "Socrates is a man. And if Socrates is a man, then all men are Socrates. Therefore, all men are homosexual. Wait. I'm not homosexual."

I also highly reccomend The Office with Steve Carell on DVD--each episode has so many deleted scenes, that by "playing all," you're pretty much playing six new episodes all as hilarious as the originals.

Bye!

"We're proud of the fact that Pixar makes cartoons. We're not trying to replicate reality. We study reality and then we caricature it." --Ralph Eggleston

2005-08-25T18:32:00.000-07:00

Who likes pancakes? I'm not really asking, but I just wanted to ask. What? Huh? Zah? Durp! Typing is fun! So I finally got around to watching The Jerk 26th Anniversary DVD and altho I still feel that the movie itself still holds up as the greatest American comedy ever made, the special features are horridly lacking (and this coming from the fellah who pulled a bixby irish and bought the non-spesh ed. Sin City that just came out). The only feature remotely worthwhile was supplementary footage to the Mexican Cat Juggling sequence, where PigEye Jackson goes beyond cat juggling and into fish teasing (where he produces a goldfish in a bowl, then taps on the glass, waves an empty fish food canister over its bowl, and eats sushi in front of it) and plant abusing (where he uncovers a potted fern and screams stuff at it like "I'll f@#k you 6 ways from f@#king Sunday you f@#king whore!"). But at least it gave me an excuse to finally buy The Jerk on DVD. And, according to World Domination reader Wayne Unten and All Things Browe! inspiration Brian Growe, in other DVD news, the next volume of the animated Batman (all the streamlined WB episodes) comes out December 6th! Ask Garrett for it for Christmas--he'll buy it for you bustamante!
Heather ended up having to a meeting today so she had to cancel our appointment for the week, so I pretty much had all day to reflect on my Swiss army turtle farm and sauter my toe cleavage. Assuming we can meet next week, it sounds like I'll be a busy brogan once more, because not only will we go over my latest pass on the Haley project, but she'll probably also give me a storyboard revisionist test for The Replacements--here's hoping I riznock the casbahdor on this one and actually and finally score a job. And speaking of boards, here're the last of my Aphrodite boards that I'm willing to show. Acting-wise, they're probably my favorite, which figures since they're the last panels of the scene. I guess sometimes you just need 160 drawings to get properly warmed up. Snoogans!

"The business of the philosopher is make ideas available, and not to impose them on people."
--T.H. White

2005-08-24T12:39:00.000-07:00

Sweet foliated flat-beds, readers! I totally got to meet Cloris Leachman at work yesterday! And after eleven minutes of negotiations, we finally came to an agreeable accord: I'll let her heckle any customer of mine that she wants if she'll bake 160 gift buckets of brownies for my minions who're hijacking every last doorknob from the Taj Mahal this weekend. That's right India! You may have succeeded in canceling Clone High, but let's see how taj you are when I'm mahauling your doorknobs away! The Atomic Poonjabi is back! And while we're talking about Mexican midgetry, I received a tasty tip from World Domination reader Emmanuel Deligiannis that our adorable old darebag and John Edwards enthusiast, Art Munoz, is rushing a frat this semester. That may or may not consist of only three members. Which may or may not reside in a discarded Magnavox MTS televison cardboard box clubhouse. And may or may not be called Delta Sigma Siesta. I'm thinking about sending them 94 FedEx envelopes filled with pizza. Wait. I don't think that's how that prank works. Truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. I guess I just sed that to impress you. That's why I'm wearing a suit and tie as I type this. I know you can't see me, what with the internet and all, but I think the attire dashes a hint of class into my text, don't you? Especially since I'm actually wearing an elegant ball gown with long cashmere gloves and polysteroid slippers. (insert awkward pause here) Oh shit. I wasn't supposed to say that.

Aphrodite boards.

"The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then--to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look at what a lot of things there are to learn--pure science, the only purity there is. You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six. And then, after you have exhausted a milliard lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics--why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend 50 years learning to begin to learn to beat your adversary at fencing. After that you can start again on mathematics, until it is time to learn to plough." --T.H. White

2005-08-23T00:43:00.000-07:00

So I was asked an incredibly stupish question today, and yet it made me think all the same: were there vegetarian cavemen? After a couple contemplations, my answer to this query is no: for one to be a vegetarian, one has to either make the moral choice that eating other creatures is wrong or else make the dietary decision that giving up meat is best for one's health. Something tells me that cavemen didn't have the brain capacity to form inquisitively complex notions such as "fur is murder" or "how high is my cholesterol." And speaking of cavemen, I decided to listen to Anonymous and get this blog some sponsors--not the sponsors of Google, but rather those of the popular show Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer. Such sponsors as Lawn Destroyer--When You Don't Even Care Anymore; Cubic Yard of Earthworms--What You Do With It Is YOUR Business; Wilson Ear Drills--We Don't Recommend You Use Ear Drills, But If You Do, Use The Best!; Spider Whistle--Also Works On Certain Ants!; Dog Assassin--What You Can't Put Him Down Yourself; and of course Gas Plus--Actually GIVES You Gas! And please tell me someone else also saw Harvey Birdman Sunday night. Crickets with ricketts it had me giggling like a tumbleweed. They pulled a What's Up, Tigerlily? and recycled an original Birdman cartoon from the '70s and redubbed the soundtrack with Gary Cole, Steven Colbert, and the rest of the current Harvey players. It's very yummy, and even had TCM's Robert Osborn to introduce it. I've also been watching a slew of James Cameron movies on TV lately, and even tho I did long ago OD on Titanic like nearly everyone else this starboard of the Lusitania, I must say, why hasn't this bastard done anything in the past 8 years? The kid's got some major talent and I wanna see more! We all know the man's gotta handle on structure, thrills, and suspense, but for some reason, I just have a soft spot for directors who are loyal to their favorite actors (see Bill Paxton as Punk #2 in the beginning of Terminator)--names like Coen, Raimi, Burton, & Hitchcock pop to mind here. And it wasn't til recently that I realized Iron Giant is really nothing more than an animated remake of Terminator 2--boil them both down and you basically have a boy with a single mother teaching his robot protector human morals and compassion. Really the only difference is in T2, the boy is being hunted whereas in IG, it's the robot who's the prey. And I suppose by making this connection it would be easy for me to think less of Brad Bird but actually I respect him all the more. Brad excels at taking an idea that's already been done and yet he can film that idea in such an entertaining way, you'd swear it's original. After all, Incredibles didn't say anything about the superhero genre that hadn't already been sed by Watchmen, Powers, The Tick, or even that turd Bionic Six, and yet I will continue to lick my Incredibles DVD until its cinematic powers are mine to behold. But anyway, James Cameron, how bout you get back to work and show us what that beard can do in the new milennium! Same for you Brad, minus the beard comment of course.

Here are some more Aphrodite boards.

"I've come to be reminded so much that in art, as in life, the journey is often just as interesting as the destination...if not more." --Mike Kunkel

2005-08-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

I wanna pitch my day today to Tori Spelling and Rosie O'Donnell and have it made into a CBS movie of the week. It was a day that started in inspiration, and ended in, well you'll see. My first customer of the day was a little boy named Joshua who probably clocked in at 4 years old max. When he first sat down, I only figured he was a regular boy--after all, he was smiling and laffing and joking with me and his dad. His dad began to adjust what I thought to be Josh's collar. And then I saw it wasn't his collar at all. It was his feeding tube. I don't remember his specific health problems, but little Joshua has been thru A LOT including multiple open-heart surgeries and literally having half his heart and brain removed (he even showed me his brain scar). I'll state again that this kid is no older than four. And because of all these operations and hospitalizations, modern science claimed that Joshua isn't supposed to be able to talk or walk or play like a normal child, and yet, that's exactly what I mistook him for. In fact, he recited his ABCs to me and I found out he has a great love for music and head-butting his sister. He even has an irrational fear of Asian people. And this is my fave aspect of being a caricature artist--meeting people like Joshua, learning about the stories of people foreign and domestic who are interesting, funny, kind, and in the case of today, a miracle. It's people like them that drive me in my art and my storytelling and my comedy--these are people I want to entertain, these are the people that I feel would love to be my audience, because I've really loved being theirs. Anyway, that was my daily inspiration.
Now, I won't get into the specifics of how my day ended, but I will tell you that it ended with a belligerent little shorty that I work with threatening me "onstage," "in costume." Now, I'm not one to be intimidated, but this guy's life is such a train wreck, that I believe he has nothing to lose and is in fact, a very dangerous person. So in the event that this guy actually tries to hospitalize and/or kill me, I'm
a. calling for a Henchman Reunion Jamboree '05 to avenge my untimely whatever.
b. turning this post into my Last Will & Testament if, well God forbid. I hereby leave World Domination Weekly and almost all its rights and subsidiaries (including that of the name Osgood McSonogram) to my good friends Garrett and Chia--I trust that they will maintain the humorous integrity of this blog after my passing. To dearest Erenthea, I leave all artwork from my beloved project Aphrodites A-Go-Go, because she seems to enjoy it so much. Gute--you get all my toys to adorn your office at Cartoon Network; Toon--you get whatever's in my medicine cabinet....to adorn your cubicle at Nickelodeon; Wayne--you get the toilet to the immediate left of my medicine cabinet; Browe--you get my neck hair, because I don't think you have enuf of that; my good friend Bill Buckley--you get my entire collection of Olsen twin mystery books; Mike Williams, you get my patented "loaf of pants;" Justin, I leave you my severed carcass. Which is to be stuffed and preserved. To adorn your cubicle at Nickelodeon; and to Dik, my latest reader, all that's left to leave you, are my words. And my crumbling Ikea bed. Here's to survival!

And here are a couple Aphrodite boards.

"Never think it to be unbelievable. Never think that." --Mike Kunkel

2005-08-20T03:15:00.000-07:00

How are you, dear readers? Fantastic. How am I? Well thank you (or more accurately me for asking for you). So thank you Matt. Oh you're quite welcome my lad--how're the kids? Funny you should ask--Finster adores the metric system and Hortence is celibate--you know, small hands--smells like cabbagood gawsh no the multiple personalities have returned.

Doing pretty well today--Project: Continental Divide is progressing full-throttle, and I have my Mazda Protege back from the shop (spesh shout-out to Dolphin Boy for the ride!). I saw a commercial for A Bug's Life on ToonDisney today and actually got a little depressed whenever they showed off Heimlich--that character is forevermore gonna hold a bittersweet sentimentality in my eyes due to the loss of his voice, Mr. Ranft--doesn't mean the character is ruined tho. I feel the same way about Phil Hartman and not a day goes by where I don't miss him whenever I see Newsradio or SNL or "what could have been" on Futurama, yet he still remains one of my foremost Jesuses and is someone I can laff with forever.

Here are more sketches of my new villains--The Retroactively Infant Sphinx Squad! When I finally get an Aphrodites pitch bible off the ground, these drawings probably won't be used in it, but I still like to do an extra pose/facial expression or two when developing a character to really help me to physically and mentally understand him. The main difference in development since last time is they're no longer thieves but cursed saboteurs--Leroy, the bearded one, is the sarcastic mastermind; Ebray, the bald one, is "the paws" of the outfit; and Scheppke, the brawny one, the muscle. I think this is the most basic info I can give. So until next time, keep up the flossing lads--you finally have that scoundrel Gingivitus on the run!

"The only thing necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing." --Edmund Burke

2005-08-18T18:32:00.000-07:00

Nothing too new to report--just another day of lawn sorcery and percolating enchiladas. I have decided, tho, to completely forsake transitions. For example, to get back at me for charging my car repairs to his EA account, Garrett drove down to San Diego, broke into my parents house, and left a tape in my old bedroom called "Whacking To The Oldies," which, as it turns out, is nothing more than inappropriate footage of Rue McClanahan and Cloris Leachman bobbing the uncle and giving the undercarriage a bit of the old "how's your father." So of course my mom finds it, then start the questions, and despite my explanations, my mom thinks I'm into gilfs and now she's looking for women to hook me up with at church crotcheting retreats. My dad believes me tho, and that's why I'm no longer allowed to go out to play with Garrett anymore. Hope you're happy with yourself. And now I'd like to introduce everyone to my latest Aphrodite villains--Leroy, Ebray, and Scheppke--The Retroactively Infant Sphinx Squad! They're basically professional thieves and sphinxes with an ageing disorder making them baby sphinxes with the minds of dirty 52 year old men--Gotta catch 'em all! Word to your uncles!

"What happens when you discover something you weren't looking for?" --Mike Kunkel

2005-08-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

So last night I was counting the stripes on my latest zebra-panther I'm genetically engineering, which is an action I am under a lot of criticism for--not because I'm playing God, but because most people think I should skip the genetics altogether and buy myself a tiger--it's a big cat with stripes, same thing and easier process, right? To these critics I say, "YOU HAVE NO IMAGINATION! AND YES, I AM HAPPY BEING CATHOLIC AND HAVE NO INTEREST IN WITNESSING JEHOVAH! GO WEAR A T-SHIRT!" And then I slam the door in their face, take out my rosary of vengeance, do a few beads against them, and then go back to grooming my zebra-panther refreshed and showery. And isn't it weird that by Djibouti state law I'm allowed to breed mutant predatory cats but not lemurs that can handle a gun? I know, like I said--weird. Anydoogiehowser m.d., returning to my original thought, last night I was counting the stripes on my zebra-panther, and this heaviness just...hit me. The only thing I can call it is a frustration with life I suppose, so I realized it's time for a change. So, to break outta my routine, today I moved to Madagascar to open an embroidered quilt outlet, became the surgeon general's chief advisor to gerrymandering, taken up pewter voodoo, and I even grew tusks due to a radioactive retainer I found at Arby's. Sadly tho, my quilt outlet has already closed due to a violation of "human rights" and a forced evacuation of all my labor force. Sucks yeah, but it was worth it see them all hurriedly limping away. It's for the best tho because I couldn't go to work today anyway because I had to take my car to the Mazda dealer this morning. I don't think anyone but Chia knows about this, but last time we went cafe sketching, on my drive home my driver's side automatic window kinda rolled down of its own accord and as an extra rebellion, refused to roll back up when I pressed the button. So for the past week my window has been an inch away from being rolled all the way up because that's the highest I've been able to manually lift it. It's made things very difficult at drive-thrus and interacting with security guards to get into studios. The Mazda peeps told me there's a problem with the window regulator plus they found out my struts are leaking so the bill's gonna be higher than expected, so I told them my name is Garrett Shikuma of the Hormel Shikumas and to bill me at my work, Electronic Arts.

I'm just in a drawing hump right now, I guess. I don't like what I draw right now, I don't like the style of what I draw right now, I just need "to bring it." I suppose I can take some life drawing again, but I get so bored when I have to get all academic in my art--it's a vicious cycle. It's also not at all inspirational to hear about legendary story artist Joe Ranft dying yesterday in a car accident. It's just so crazy and awful to think how many people die from cars on a daily basis, and then one person outta of the hundreds turns out to affect the outlook and spirits of the entire world with his wonderful work and the tragedy is tripled. May he be entertaining the patrons of heaven with his storytelling as he did for those of us on earth.

Here are some more Aphrodite boards.

"Sometimes, it's the journey to the discovery that gives us the satisfaction more than the discovery itself." --Mike Kunkel

2005-08-16T22:03:00.000-07:00

So bad news on the McSonogram front dear readers. I was totally planning to overrun Guadelajara this weekend with my legion of Christopher Lloyd clones, but now I'll have to delay the invasion since my usual supplier mistakenly sent me 14 jars of midget toes instead of the shingles (eighteen pair), monument toppler (now in candy-apple red), baker's dozen genetically vicious acrobatic lemurs equipped with .74 automatics (I can no longer breed them myself since my permit expired), elbow tongs, the JCREW burgundy tweed v-neck (size L), and Filipino bride I actually ordered for the mission. Needless to say, my usual supplier is no longer my usual supplier and rest assured, I'll never shop at www.freakzilla.org again. In fact, I'm using my patented enchanted nutcracker jaw on him so that from here on yogurt, everytime he looks thru a periscope, he'll see hornets.

And now the "if it weren't for my horse" statement of the day: "I lost $100 in a boccie ball game yesterday." I heard that on the shuttle to Disneyland today. And have you ever noticed that the name Barbara consists entirely of "b"s, "a"s, and "r"s? I know, I know--impressive!

"Why do people not think, when they are grown up, as I do when I am young?" --T.H. White

P.S.--New blog rule--if you don't watch Stella, you're no longer allowed to visit this site. Hey check it out--Aphrodite boards!

2005-08-15T22:41:00.000-07:00

Well dear readers, due to my overpowering Orange County ennui and just general adoration of the man, I am officially declaring August 15th Mike Williams Day! Therefore, every August 15th from now forward, stay home from work to look at ghetto porn, drink spicy apple cider, and go fez shopping (for you and your dog!) to celebrate. For those of you unfamiliar with this titan among toenails, introduce yourself by perusing these file photos of the REAL American hero not to mention reading his life story below. I think you'll agree--he is ADORABLE! Happy Mike Williams Day everybody!

"Starving nations never seem to be quite so starving that they cannot afford to have more expensive armaments than anybody else." --T.H. White

Mike Williams, originally Mikael van Derwilly, was born in dadaist Holland, but is not into porn. Growing up a content and even faddish young lad, Williams spent his childhood afternoons strolling the dikes and tulip fields of his hometown slurping “fichu van derlollies,” delicious ringworm-flavored lollipops made of pure Dutch hash. His parents, Darryll and Terracotta van Derwilly, ran a chain of gorilla-operated windmills. His father Darryll, a key figure in the Holland Mafia, abandoned organized crime when he realized smuggling clogs really wasn’t illegal at all. Darryll’s decision proved fatal, however, when the entire van Derwilly family was simultaneously incinerated and extinguished by a Mafia “dike-bomb.” Mikael, the only one to survive the blast of tulip stems and ape spleen, was punished by the Mafia for his will to live and was promptly sent to Colorado as an indentured servant in the Rocky Mountain kidney mines.

Hardened by his hard luck and leathery labor, Williams released his aggression towards Allah by enlisting in a boxing miner league (pun sadly intended. And windproof!) Quickly ascending the ranks of the league, Williams soon obtained the nickname “Bag of Knuckles,” as he skinned the topside portion of his opponents’ hands for trophies. And he had a bag. And he kept the knuckle pelts in the bag. Hence the name “Bag of Knuckles.” You’re a little slow, aren’t you? No matter. As his boxing career germinated and his nickname progressed to “Ugly Miguel” and later “Glacial Josh,” Williams punched his ticket out of the kidney mines by achieving national notoriety and even went on to fight 137-time world-champion Doju-manwhore Will Buckley. Williams ruefully retired, however, after beating a severe learning disability into the fiery Irishman and was therefore banned from the sport.

Still in the public eye but now without a job, Williams maintained his fame by creating Chipple, a fondue-like chitlin consisting of collared persimmons, breaded pork, and back issues of People magazine. But when health inspections proved that Chipple was 97% pure Dutch Hash, Williams found himself now barred from the cooking industry as well.
Forbidden from both the ring and the kitchen, Williams unsuccessfully dabbled in numerous odd jobs including head rubbing, homogenizing cognac, fez blocking, prostituting elk, carpentry, bookkeeping, bicycle messaging, and balladeering.

Starving, Williams became so weak he lost the ability to speak. A creditable illiterate, he could only communicate with the world by doodling numerous drawings and flipping the pages to create a pictorial message. When one day “flipping” for crumb fare, Williams was discovered by Dr. Dana Lamb esq., a veterinary gynecologist turned art professor, who in turn gave Williams a full-ride scholarship to the university of Cal State Fullerton. It was here that Williams photosynthesized his begging into craft and became the first colored person to graduate from the university, but again, is not into porn.

Success and notoriety belonged to Williams once again as he regained his voice and led a successful career in animation, working on such television shows as Futurama and Betty La Fea and movies such as the Golden-Globe nominated Bigelow the Clown, Bigelow Returns, Bigelow Strikes Back, Bigelow & Robin, Bigelow p: The Return of Durante, Bigelow Goes to Jail, Bigelow Saves Lent, Bigelow Does Dallas, Bigelow Dies, Bigelow in Purgatory, and The Last One: The Musical.

Leaving the industry due to a stressful ingrown testicle but still thirsting for prestige, Williams mastered the art of Jedi mind control and even obtained a cane to prove the point. Now a wisened master, Williams returned to his alma mater to “take out the trash” and teach the ancient art of penile origami.

Today, Williams is a shaman monk residing in the ancient temples of the sacred hills of San Bernardino. He occasionally leaves the temple to play jai alai for charity events or to address the State Assembly in opposition to porn, because he is not into it. He has peace of mind, a thermos, and a “thing” that is big for a guy his age. One time Mike saw a blimp.

2005-08-14T17:10:00.000-07:00

So I was thinking today, because yes, I think too okay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. To the contrary, it's why I am. Or so they say. But who're they? The Christmas babies, guy. And I'm sorry, but that Lucky Charms leprechaun is fulla shit. I hate to go on a cliche semantical cereal diatribe, but I just woke up today and realized I'm offended by these commercials. How many decades has Lucky suffered thru these motions now? All he's trying to do is maintain his trade secrets to keep his cereal profitably afloat in a competitive capitalist market and yet hordes of meddling kids (why are the kids in all cereal commercials such bastards?) disrupt the day's productivity by demanding free cereal or making him reveal secrets of future marketing strategies before their official press release pretty much turning the present situation into a premature press release and that's what gives us the commercial. But as a proud Irish American, what I almost hate the most is the constant hate crimes these children inflict on our loveable, hard-working Irish stereotype of a mascot. They're purposefully targeting the Irish--after all, why don't they ever bother that soulfoul Golden Crisps bear or the blatantly Mexican Tony the Tiger? And most infuriating of all, why does Lucky joyfully accept the abuse? I have never known a fellow Irishman to take such mistreatment unless he was too drunk to do anything about it. Now if this were the case with Lucky, then great. Fractions divided. But he's not--he's ALWAYS sober! And suppa dilly there? Why doesn't Lucky drink? That's just something that good Irish people don't do. The good Irish (the kind that's "fighting") don't not drink. And Lucky even has magic powers--get 'em off your back man and just turn those kids into a radish. Or Jason Priestley. Or sumping. Guy. Man, if I were a leprechaun, I would be SO about the kinder smackdown, those kids would die of internal swallowing. That's how I roll. Goodnight sweet prince. And here're more Aphrodite boards!

"I'm a man who can cry. Now it's true it's usually when I've hurt myself but it's a start."
--Steve Martin

2005-08-13T16:04:00.000-07:00

Hey, who here knew that Ezek is short for Ezekiel? I don't think many of us did know that, mainly because so many of us live outside of Alabama and Palestine. Anyhowser, I don't have any manifestos or hero worship planned for the day, but I did recently come upon this old e-mail from my old friend James "Old" Harrington: the backstory being that we played an all-too brief game where we would teach each other about different species of animals--this is his informative blurb on the Southern Leopard Frog and inspiration for today's sketches:

The Southern Leopard Frog is found in freshwater, moist areas of leaf debris and in rotting logs all around Georgia. It is usually a nocturnal frog but can often be seen basking in the sun on the water's edge. These frogs are mainly insectivores, but will also eat small animals like worms. In the center of the tympanic membrane (behind the eye) of the Southern Leopard Frog is an off-colored spot. This spot is one of the major distinguishing factors between the Southern Leopard frog and its cousin, the Northern Leopard Frog. Most Southern Leopard Frogs come from one parent families, which leads to emotional pains late in their life. All too often these frogs turn to drugs to cover their painful past. Most clinical psychologists will be more than willing to prescribe opiates to the frogs, but there has been a major shift in the health care industry regarding frogs. With the major providers such as Blue Shields dropping frogs and boxing kangaroos from coverage, many are left in a difficult situation. Most turn to suicide, but others opt to break into drugstores and steal pills. In the last few years President Clinton, with help from the US military and the NAACP, has targeted these frogs with special outreach programs. The idea is not simply to lock them away after one incarceration, but to instead counsel them so they can return to their lakes, rivers, and lagoons as productive frogs. If they return to the courts a second time, they are shipped to France and eaten.

"Ordinarily I don't like to be around interesting people because it means I have to be interesting, too." --Steve Martin

2005-08-12T11:23:00.000-07:00

Sooooo it looks like I dropped my taint in a clamp again. Since mentioning my recent successful deathray exploits and the Nigerian dictators who're sucking up to me because of them, I now have even MORE Nigerian dictators calling me. I guess they're the more rustic ones who talk to cans and eat their own people and are just too creepy to be part of the grapevine, but evidently they have internet access and evidently they're a fan of World Domination Weekly. But this dookie flushes now. For the definitive record--if you are a Nigerian dictator, STOP CALLING ME! I'm flattered that you recognize my rising evil, but I hate you guys more than a stubbed toe in cornmeal, every last one of you smells like a 15-day old haircut, I can't understand what you guys are even saying half the time, and none of you have a shot at being part of my evil empire. I'm sorry but the McSonogram Express doesn't make stops in Nigeria. I mean, look at yourselves--you live in one country and there's like 18 of you trying to claim power--none of you can dominate a single impoverished nation and you want to go global with M. Willy? You wish, small-time!
I'm posting a couple links that were sent to me today (thanks to Garrette & Chia):

http://gorillamask.net/conanbaseball.shtml

http://www.infocusmag.com/05augustseptember/whedonuncut.htm

The first is Conan O'brien attending an 1860s baseball game--this one's so funny kids, two scoops will do ya! The second is an interview with Joss Whedon and this, my brogans, is without a doubt the most compelling interview I've ever read in my almost twenty years of literacy. I've always held a fanatical devotion to Joss that has even surpassed that to the Catholic church, but after reading this I am now unswervingly convinced that Joss is the greatest storyteller of our time. Granted, I still see Brad Bird with an airbrushed holy glow to rival that of a Barbara Walters interview and I'm not as into Doug TenNapel as I was a year ago, but I truly think that not another person on this planet has the sense and knowledge of structure and character development that Joss has. If I had an integer of his talent, the world would already be mine, yet when you read thru, you see that the man is as selfless as he is brilliant. And while I'm ranting about unsung heroes, what the froogle happened to Dana Carvey? I saw an SNL rerun last night where not only was he in every sketch, but he DOMINATED each one ruling in both script recitation and improvisation (to get a sketch out of trouble if it needed it) ranging in characters from a crude Tony Montana ripoff to Lyle the Effeminate Heterosexual. Character actors of Dana's caliber should never be unemployed and certainly never be forgotten and I'm afraid old Carvey's a bit of both at this juncture. I feel the same way about Dave Foley and Norm McDonald--these three men should be bigger than Jim Carrey and yet....And to insert this here since I have nowhere else to insert it, a quote from Louis CK: "I have a daughter who is three now and I know her, I know her so well. And she's a douchebag. No. Really. I gave her a couple years, but I hate her. She's done."
Also, at work today I drew a couple named Sandy and JD. Let me tell you a little bit about them. Sandy is from Connecticut and JD is from Massachusetts. They met two weeks ago online and this trip to Disneyland is actually only their second date. Why? Well they told me it went down something like this:
JD: "What do you want to do for our second date?"
Sandy: "Let's go to Disneyland."
JD: "Okay."
And then they just up and immediately flew cross-country and in fact are still calling people back home to let them know where they are:
"Dad, can you take care of my puppy?"
"Why? Where are you?"
"Anaheim, California."
"Ooooohhh shitballs."
Yes, they're crazy, and they know they're crazy, but damn if I don't admire that type of crazy. In my Stella ideal world, Dave Foley would be a household name and couples would fly across an entire continent for a second date. So this is what it feels like, when doves cry.

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear." --H.P. Lovecraft

2005-08-11T00:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry about not posting on Tuesday dear readers but I've been pretty preoccupied with the backlash over Project: Polynesia. Personally, I think everybody just needs to chillax baby girl. I mean c'mon, everyone hated Polynesia when it was around, but when Babe Ruth steps to the plate to do sumpin about it, the U.N. is all "gross violation of human rights" this and "blemish on mankind" that. Man, shut up already. If I get one more notice to dismantle my doomsday armaments, I swear I'm gonna smack the prime minister of Mozambeek in his ghetto-fabulous haircut. With like a swarms of wasps. Or a spatula. Or sumpin. Either way, work a jigsaw puzzle and a pack of baloney into the equation and he's screwed. Besides, six more Fruit Roll Ups box tops and I can send away for that "Puddle of Milk" death ray I've been eyeing--it turns your target of choice into a puddle of milk. Pretty straightforward really, so it's not just a clever name. Haven't decided what country I'll use it on, but impulse tells me Belgium (they've been lording their waffles over us for too long). And then maybe I'll go antique shopping. The only downside to this hullabaloo is that I keep getting congratulatory phone calls from various Nigerian dictators. Man, I am SO sick of those guys. I swear, you go to ONE genocide fair to recruit henchman minions and it's "oh, can you bury a dead Jew?" this and "activate the remote detonator to kill my opponent's daughter with android molten pandas" that. It's like, dudes--just leave me alone. I so miss the days when Freemasons ruled the earth. As much as I enjoy being an international supervillain of swankery, there's not many people in this industry I can relate to. Except for Clyde--now THERE'S a hooligan with class.
On a topic that is in NO way related, I met again with Heather today and as always, it was a both humbling and uplifting experience: uplifting because I'm beginning to become a name with her coworkers because she mentions me a lot (they were even referring to me as "the protege" at lunch); humbling because the more I look at Heather's post-it revisions of my work, the more I know that I know nothing of staging and that I have so much to learn. Granted, some of it is just a matter of style or taste, but it is her project so her preferences win out. Working with her, I can understand why I've gotten so close to getting storyboard jobs but have yet to actually score one. Here's hoping I catch onto Heather's lessons in time for when her new show starts hiring...

"You don't know what you don't know." --Richard Williams

2005-08-10T00:32:00.000-07:00

On today's post, MONKEY!!!!!!!

"Shapes come and go but colors are eternal." * --Angelica Huston

*I think this is Angelica's stance on segregation.

2005-08-08T22:22:00.000-07:00

Well. It has finally happened. The sun has burnt out on itself. Crops will die. Our vision will fade. Our children will be denied precious Vitamin D. Sunglasses will become obsolete. Ham will be less delicious. We are doomed. Unless of course the sun has only gone down and I haven't taken into account that it's actually night but if this is the case then I have realized that the sun has not collapsed but how can I fully realize this when--IN TYPE--I previously stated that that (and by the second that, I'm referring to the sun extinguishing) is what I believe, altho I actually believe the inverse now but if what's past is prologoh darn I've gone cross-eyed.
Hi. I'm Matt Roberts. You may remember me from such blog posts as "A Musket Too Many" and "Who Are You To Accuse Me?." Hello dear reader. I trust you've finally kicked that nasty primer habit--it's a layer dear reader, not an inhalant. Yes, helium IS wonderfully inert and Trix are indeed for kids. Today I'm posting an orangutan and a rhino that I once drew when trying to apply the many teachings of my former teacher Joe Weatherly (well, the ones that don't involve "bobbing the uncle," anyway). I think I got careless with the orangutan's feet and hands and the rhino is a little truncated horizontally and elongated vertically (My Gawd look at those lithe, sexy legs!), yet they both still appeal to me. I dunno. Hey! Has anyone seen this yet: http://www.apple.com/trailers/universal/serenity/trailer_2/large.html
There's just sumpin about that trailer that puts me in a Jewel Staite every time I see it. Whiz to the wozzle!

"When you're young, you have way fewer taboo topics, and then as you go through life and you have experiences with people getting cancer and dying and all the things you would have made fun of, then you don't make fun of them anymore. So rebelliousness really is the province of young people--that kind of iconoclasm." --Steve Martin

2005-08-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

I'm afeared I have none too much to report today. Still jiggling away on my thumbnails for Heather, still trying to concoct a quality character for the magician's friend, still trying to teach my power tools to fetch (this one takes patience kids!). On the world domination front, Polynesia failed to meet my demands by sunrise, so, with heavy finger, I evaporated their lame little island with the death ray my Uncle Ruteger gave me last Easter. So yeah, Polynesia's gone. Go ahead, check a globe. You won't see it. Oh sure, maybe you'll see an island-shaped stain in the Pacific Ocean, but no Polynesia BOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYEEE! On a more interesting note, I did a blogger search to see who, if anyone, shared the hobbies I listed in my profile. Surprisingly enuf, there are other people in this world who itemize "hot pants" and "sideburns" as hobbies. And for stealing from me, my latest hobby is seeing that these people go the way of Polynesia, Jason Priestley-style! Also, at work today, I drew an old man named "Dirty Jerry." Granted, this isn't as funny as when I drew that Asian girl named "Hai Minh" (say it aloud a couple times--you'll get it) but whatever. I'm posting some different versions I did of Shadowcat based on the model from Joss Whedon's Astonishing X-Men. Don't know which I like best yet, if any at all, but here they are anyhowser.

2005-08-06T16:52:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my brand new blog DUDEmeisters! I'm still getting a feel for managing this technological flimflam so I won't be posting any art or writings yet-like, my patient droogans. So what in the name of Bob Barker's colostomy crust will this first post be about? Well, everyone sez that you can never go wrong by opening with a joke, so here we go:

Three cowboys are sitting around a campfire out on the lonesome prairie, each with the bravado for which cowboys are famous for. A night of tall tales begins.

The first sez, "I must be the meanest, toughest, cowboy there is. Why, just the other day, a bull got loose in the corral and gored six men before I wrestled it to the ground by the horns with my bare hands."

The second can't stand to be bested: "Why that's a feat of giblets and crap! That's nothin. I was walkin down the trail yesterday and a fifteen foot rattler slid out from under a rock and made a move for me. I grabbed that venom-worm with my bare hands, bit its head off with my bare mouth, and sucked the poison down in one bare gulp! And here I am today."

The third cowboy remained silent, slowly stirring the coals with his penis.